


Rise

by ShadowObsessor01



Series: Love Through It All: A story of Water and Fire [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Hargrove & Eleven | Jane Hopper Friendship, Billy Hargrove Has Friends in California, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove gains friends, Billy Hargrove's mom is an angel, F/M, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Let's Start a Band, Liberal use of Herbal Remedies, Original Character(s), Protective Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington gains friends, Steve and Billy Bromance, Taking Canon and shoving it off a cliff, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowObsessor01/pseuds/ShadowObsessor01
Summary: It was a hell of a way to die. A mad half giggle bubbled past his lips. Everything going on is absolutely batshit INSANE and Billy wishes he had never opened the damn fridge. He's going to DIE wishing he had never opened a fridge door.Screw. His. Life.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Rebekah Shore, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Robin Buckley & Billy Hargrove, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Rebekah Shore, Steve Harrington & The Party
Series: Love Through It All: A story of Water and Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718737
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	1. Tranquilizers Are No Fun, So Let The Wolves Run

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own this fandom or any of the songs used in the making of this fiction. They belong to their respective owners. I am also not making any money off of this, this is just me having fun. 
> 
> HELLOOOOOOOO MY DARLINGS!!!!
> 
> It is here!  
> I've been teasing you for weeks now with that preview chapter (nope, not sorry about that. The response to it has been to good to be sorry.) and now you can finally read the true fruits of my labor. It'll be slow going, but I think it should only come down to about twenty chapters...we'll see. 
> 
> Please, let me know what you think (love it or hate it, give mama some constructive criticism please!!!).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Billy thought California was a place of insanity. (It totally is but more "normal" than "entirely overrun by supernatural murderous shenanigans.")

**Rise**

Won't see us comin'  
Out the door before you even blink  
Somethin' so cold-blooded  
With a deep killer instinct

Don't look us right in the face  
It's like starin' at a burnin' sun  
Got teeth like razor blades  
And you know that we're out for blood  
We're out for blood!

Better run, better run  
(Oh-ooh)  
'Cause here it comes, here it comes  
(Oh-ooh)  
Better run, better run  
When the wolves come out to play!

Full moon is risin'  
Oh, the hunger's burnin' like a flame  
No use in hidin'  
Oh, you're never gonna find escape

Don't look us right in the face  
It's like starin' at a burnin' sun  
Got teeth like razor blades  
And you know that we're out for blood  
We're out for blood!

Better run, better run  
(Oh-ooh)  
'Cause here it comes, here it comes  
(Oh-ooh)  
Better run, better run  
When the wolves come out to play!

No mercy!  
This fury!  
Like a war machine, it keeps turning  
No mercy, no mercy!  
No mercy!  
This fury!  
Like a war machine, it keeps turning  
No mercy, no mercy!

Better run, better run  
(Oh-ooh)  
'Cause here it comes, here it comes  
(Oh-ooh)  
Better run, better run  
When the wolves come out to play!

-Wolves by Sam Tinnesz and Silverberg

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**Tranquilizers Are No Fun, So Let The Wolves Run**

It was a hell of a way to die. Drugged half out of his mind, head pounding from all the knocks it had received this evening, Maxine and all her little shit cohorts caterwauling above him, Billy didn't have two ounces of care to rub together. Neil always did say he would wind up as shit in a ditch someday. Billy always assumed it would be a ditch in California, hopefully close to a beach so he'd at least have the sea salt breeze to send him to his final rest, not six feet under some damn backwoods pumpkin patch in the middle of Nowhere, America with a pack of alien dogs bearing down. Well, silver lining, Neil won't be able to bitch about burial costs. Just stick a headstone above the hole. Even dead, the bastard would find some way to make Billy's after-life torture. Maybe the hick farmer who owns this particular patch could make some money off of Billy's death, give tours of the sight where a California idiot bit the dust.

A mad half giggle bubbled past his lips. Everything going on is absolutely batshit INSANE and Billy wishes he had never opened the damn fridge. He's going to DIE wishing he had never opened a fridge door.

Screw. His. Life.

There had been a MONSTER in the Byers' fridge, mold green and toothy petal face fit to feature Prime Time in a Stephen King novel. Billy, even in his compromised state, could _smell_ the blood permeating its skin, rot and decay thick in the air despite the temperature of the fridge slowing the disintegration of tissue in death. This...thing had some connection to the weirdo group Maxine had gotten mixed up in and as such, now Billy had to get involved. She was his “responsibility” after all. Neil would **murder** him, slowly, brutally, in every way the crazy bastard could dream up, if even a hair was lost from _precious_ Maxine. Creatures from horror novelist nightmares would certainly do a lot more damage to young flesh than simply pulling hair.

Also, Maxine took his car. Billy was NOT happy about that particular tidbit. If Maxine's “friends” were crazy enough to stuff a demonic creature in a freezer for later (and he so did not want to find out for what purpose THAT idea had been) then the probability of there being more creatures and the likely hood of the teens taking off after them rose. Because clearly these kids were suicidal on top of being completely off their rockers. And everyone claimed HE is the crazy one!

Which, granted, Billy is certifiable, but he's strong enough to handle whatever the world throws at him. Some of the kids looked like a nice breeze would knock them into the next state.

Colors swirled, all kaleidoscope and hippie lava lamp style, and Billy has never felt so **good**.

HO~LY SH~IT, Maxine had shot him up with some rockin' drugs!

Dizzy, constantly seconds away from vomiting his meals from the last week onto the cracked linoleum of the Byers' kitchen, Billy had forced his fuzzy thoughts to decipher the insanity taped to the walls of the single story home. It took longer than he would ever be comfortable admitting, but he eventually figured out the underground tunnel system. Precious seconds of forcing his fuzzy memory to recall the Hawkins map he had glanced over in the gas station their first day in Hick Town, North of No-where-ville. Eyes closed, overlaying the hand drawn scribblings on top of his Memory Map, searching for the X.

Found it in the large cavern-like black spot just south of Merrill's Pumpkin Patch. If he had scaled the dimensions right (and normally he wouldn't second guess himself in MATH but, ha ha, he's SmelLiNg **SOUNDS** right now so...) the cavern would definitely be a large enough holding place for a nice sized army of those freaky petal critters. Plus five suicidal morons.

“ _Find your sister, Billy. Like a good, RESPONSIBLE, loving brother.”_

 **Six** suicidal morons. Seriously, like, HOW was _this_ his life?!

Billy cackled as he fumbled his way out of the Mad House, tripping over air and missing the final two steps. His face throbbed distantly against the gravel and he knew deep beneath the drugs that his face resembled raw hamburger which would be a _**pain**_ healing. On top of every other shitty thing going wrong with his evening, Billy lost the battle with his stomach. Bile poured from his lips, dribbled from his nose. Burned with every agonized second. Lemon sour and Tabasco spice, rotten meat and sweaty gym socks. Made him sick all over again as the smell and the burn lingered, chased out cotton fluff and replaced with fuzzy roadkill. Hours lasted minutes as his body rejected the drugs, rejected Billy. Left him weak, crying in pain, shaking in the Freak House front yard like some light weight drunk. Shivered as his overheated body fought the nippy November night. He didn't envy the owners finding this mess come morning.

Then again, if they had their house like that, Billy would bet good money vomit is the least of their concerns.

Longer than he'd like, longer felt than it actually was, Billy managed to find his feet somewhere in Brazil and staggered towards the driveway entrance. It was as far as he could go without a boost, without something to take the edge _**off.**_

Billy collapsed by the mailbox and hated every damn moment that had led to this, to him, to Maxine and Harrington and the Nerd Herd in that house together. Leaning against the surprisingly sturdy post, Billy bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed his screams. He is going to KILL Maxine once he finds her, alive, well, not mauled or eaten or broken in any visible way. Kill her and Harrington and her little friends then save Neil the trouble and eat the bullet with his name that's been hanging around his neck since birth. Let the world be free of the screwed up asshole Neil Hargrove helped whelp.

Billy dug and clawed and tore at the earth, destroyed as he has done since the doctor dragged him screaming from Lucy Hargrove's womb. Choked on the shrieks building in his throat. Dug deeper, burrowed his way under dry dust and tried to forget the pompous priest from his childhood booming from his pulpit of Death, Destruction, and _Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust._

Screwed his eyes shut against the High School Freshman Toilet Swirly Karma has decided is his due, against the judgment leering from the pulpit.

_Dug and dug and_ _**DUG** _

His fingers digging into soil, maggots seeking nourishment, ash dust skin into good and _wet_ earth-flesh. Dizzy, drugged, issues he's not going to begin to acknowledge, and definitely needing a week long nap, Billy Hargrove had no reason to smile.

He **beamed** bright as a noon day sun and crowed because he. Had. THEM!

Energy surged and flowed. Sparks his nerves and gets his blood good and hot.

Billy feels manic, knows he looks it, can't get enough of this GIDDY HIGH overtaking him like surfing a perfectly formed barrel. He's on his feet and running, boots pounding the pavement, shaking the earth in his wake. Marks his passage in sound and water and waves.

All of it beautiful, wondrous blue.

&&&&

It took longer than he would have liked to reach the pumpkin patch with his beloved car idling away in the middle, however, without a body of water the size of an Olympic pool, there is literally nothing he could do for his temporarily shit sense of balance. The fact he made it this far on the little bit he had taken is a miracle. All he can do is give his body time to clean it out naturally. Which he didn't have now that he is close enough to hear kids screaming in terror while a deeper voice urged them on faster. Billy jogged colt-clumsy to the front of his car and the massive hole illuminated by headlights. A rope extended from the Camaro's bumper into black depths of an underground tunnel. He'll be angry later at the treatment of his baby, at the scratches he can see in the Forget-Me-Not blue paint. Right now, his skin crawled just looking at what should have been a normal hole. Head's full of cotton but Billy had ALWAYS trusted his instincts and his instincts screamed to run; run far and run fast until he had hit the sunshine of California and its shadow-chasing warmth.

Before he could follow through on his flight instincts, something else caught his attention. Beneath the human screams, beneath the pounding of his heart in his ears, another sound emerged. Inhuman shrieking, chittering howls raised every single hair on his body.

Billy is a rabbit being chased by wolves.

A mouse cowering in a field while hawks swooped in the sky above him.

A child hiding beneath the covers from the monster snarling his name outside his door.

He hadn't realized he had scrambled away from the hole until his back slammed painfully into his car's bumper. Nerve endings firing cleared most of his panic as well as more of the drug. It's incredible what pain will accomplish in the human body. No longer stuck in a primal loop of terror, Billy could finally re-register the sounds coming from the hole as well as the jerking tug motion of the rope next to his hand. Humans were trying their best to escape quickly from underground.

Or monsters were trying to tug his car and himself inside onyx space, catch him in the event horizon of the black hole at his feet. In the whirlpool and jagged rocks, the snarling, grasping riptide.

Maxine's terrified whimper cuts through Billy's panic, the sound dropping-in to burn his fear wave. He breathes deep, lingers on his surf training, and exhales.

“Man up, Hargrove. Maxine is in that shit hole and it's your ass on the line if she dies from her own stupidity.” Not the best pep talk in the world, granted, but enough to get Billy sliding into a half kneeled position by the nightmare Hole to Hell where he could grab the back of coats and haul squirming adolescent bodies out.

Maxine is the first out, distinctive by her flame orange hair and the fact Billy is regrettably familiar with carting her around by the scruff like some kind of unruly kitten. She scuttled up until she could perch and pant and stare wide-eyed at the sight of her step-brother crouched over the tunnel entrance. Billy ignored her, too busy pulling the next kid up with one hand while the other prepared to grab the body following once in range. Lucas didn't even register the hand pulling him up was too large to be Max, focused as he is on helping bring Mike through the opening. Not until he and Mike were being shoved towards the car above while a head of matted blond curls poked down the opening, crimson red shirt taut against straining muscles.

“Harrington! Boost him to me!”

Billy's voice echoed through the tunnels, snapping the attention of the duo still in danger towards him.

“WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR BROTHER DOING HERE?!” Lucas and Mike were shouting at Max together, panicking harder because Billy Hargrove was not passed out on the Byers' living room floor like he should have been and they really could not afford to have his crazy on top of Upside-Down chaos.

“I DON'T KNOW, IDIOTS!” Max screamed back, eyes transfixed on the image of her asshole step brother willingly help people he had spent practically every moment of their life in Hawkins, Indiana tormenting. This could not be the same guy who had gone all Michael Myers on Steve earlier this night. And yet.....

Ignoring Maxine is a skill Billy had been perfecting for a few years now; reading people is a survival technique he had down to a science. He couldn't see Harrington's face but he didn't need to in order to see his three second thought process:

Head whipping up at the call, rearing back just as swiftly. Billy plus experience equals bad news.

Head snapping back towards the far end of the tunnel, out of Billy's sight, those hellish cries getting _closer._ Demodogs plus experience equals certain death.

Body swaying slightly to the side from being bumped by a smaller body, shuffling and whimpering in terror. Dustin breathing, terrified beside him.

“ **Harrington**.” Billy didn't say another word, let his voice speak the truth for once. Having only seen a dead creature, hearing their hunting cries alone cemented in Billy the fact he wanted _**nothing**_ to do with a live, healthy one. It would be a terrible, horrible, STUPID way to go from this earth and no one deserved that fate. Not Harrington, and certainly not a kid barely old enough to figure out girls aren't as gross as first believed. Billy extended his hand further, felt how precarious his hold on the lip of the entrance is, and _prayed_ Steve Harrington would trust him despite the circumstances earlier.

&&&&

Billy caught the screaming kid and catapulted him from the hellhole with his own roar of effort. Dustin slammed into the still arguing kids, cutting off sentences and releasing groans from suddenly breathless teens. Billy's shoulders and biceps screamed at him (SHIT, what was that kid's family feeding him?!) but all the shitheads were safe behind him and Harrington hung inches from the top of the opening, panting and vibrating with breathless laughter but also very much alive. Billy allowed a smile, a rare genuine grin the likes of which he had never graced Hawkins. A small chuckle rumbled from deep inside. This whole batshit situation floored him, but no one had died. No one.

“C'mon, Harrington. Let's get you out of that shit hole before those Hellhounds decide to use your ass as a chew toy.” Billy leaned forward again, hand open and willing to take Harrington's weight to safety. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his system or maybe it was the drugs messing with his emotions like it messed with his balance. Whichever the case, Billy couldn't help the playful tone. This would by no means make up even a tenth of what he did earlier, of the monster he had become, but perhaps it would be a start. At least one where Billy could make it through the rest of high school with Steve Harrington.

Whatever Harrington may have said in reply, never had a chance to be heard. Billy _leaned_ forward and the ground beneath him gave out.

“SHIT!”

“BILLY!”

“STEVE!”

Seven feet wasn't a bad fall, under normal circumstances. Normally, a seven foot drop posed no issue to Billy's confidence. However, tonight had been a shit storm of bad with hurricane winds of worse. To begin with, he fell in head first, which isn't too difficult to recover from if his equilibrium wasn't shot to hell and there wasn't another whole body taking up space beside him. Secondly, he collided shoulders with Steve which caused the other teen to try and catch Billy only to lose his already precarious grip on the rope keeping him from becoming hellhound chow. Billy knew he was heavier than the other boy and the position they both were in was too awkward for any sort of recovery. Thirdly, he landed on his back which definitely knocked the wind out of his sails but that wasn't the most concerning aspect.

Billy turned his head slowly and came face to hissing petaled mouth with the hellhound he landed on. His eyes tracked a bead of saliva as it dripped from the rippling folds; fixated on the stained _**rows**_ of teeth revealed as the mouth opened like a blooming flower. Nature would never be the same in his eyes _again_.

Blood roared freight train thunder in his ears. His eye sockets physically ached with how wide he forced his eyes open, not daring to lose even a second of sight on this creature and its **teeth**. Rot, musty vegetative mulch and rancid meat, filled his nose, expanded his lungs, coated his mouth and throat with nausea inducing acid. Distorted voices crackled like a badly tuned radio on the edge of his hearing.

“BiL-”

“OH mY-”

“-Ve! O-aY?”

“-Et UP! HAR-oVE!”

Hands inched his body away from Death, centimeter at a time. Gaze locked on the slowly coiling head, painfully reminded of the time he encountered a rattlesnake in the tall weeds behind their California house, rattling hiss and all. He'd only have one chance...had to time it perfectly....his body cleared the demonic creature.

The hellhound sprung, body twisting beyond natural movement, its mouth wide and hungry.

Billy rolled backwards, steel toed boot flying upwards to hook with whatever passed for a jaw on these things. A furious strangled scream marked the hellhound's passage through the air while Billy used the momentum to get his feet back under him. Spinning, crouched low with fists up and feet planted, Billy took in the damn pack standing further in the tunnel. The creature he had landed on, forever dubbed Football after the way it flew, had found its own feet and roared viciously at him. For something without noticeable facial features, Billy could feel the malicious hatred radiating from it. This thing was going to eat him alive, Big Bad Wolf style, and enjoy every single damn moment.

“What's the play, Hargrove?” Harrington questions, voice cracking like he hadn't finished puberty years ago. Billy wonders why the hell Harrington thinks he has the answers. He really doesn't but he is NOT about to let some freak show laboratory reject monsters get a single piece of his sweet ass without it buying him dinner first. “Any time now would be great!”

The monsters hissed, beginning to slowly stalk forward. Billy crouched down further, snarling right back, covering how he inched one hand down to touch the dirt beneath slimy vines. Index finger drilling carefully, seeking, Billy locked ice chipped eyes with the monster pack and **roared**. And just as he hoped, the pack faltered. Just as he prayed, his finger found wet earth.

Water thundered and waves crashed on sand.

Billy smirked, lips pulling back over shark teeth and wolf ferocity. Let them come. He's the **King** now and these _**puppies**_ ain't worth shit.

“Hargrove?!”

“Yeah, I got a play for ya, Pretty Boy. Gonna need ya to jump high as you can when I say.”

“What will that accomplish?!”

Billy ignored the doubt laying heavily in Harrington's voice. “Grab the rope or ledge and haul your ass out of this damn hole.”

“What about you?! No, no, nonono NO! Hell NO! I hate your guts right now, Hargrove, but no one, not even a grade A asshole like you deserves this kind of death.”

“Awe, you are so _sweet_ , Princess.” Sarcasm had always been Billy's favorite form of humor. And Harrington made things way too easy. “Don't worry about me. I ain't dying in this shit ripoff Wonderland Rabbit Hole.” Fingers hooked and clawed, covered in what he had searched for, strengthening his connection to what he _needed_ , Billy drew his hand forward. It fought him, the gravity and forces he was drilling, pushing, forcing apart to bring his greatest weapon to bear. His hand near vibrated off his wrist with the exertion. He howled, ice gaze wide with manic determination. Demonic dogs backed further away, faces rippling with their snarls yet hesitant to attack this two legged meal that roared its dominance.

Above this strange Mexican stand off, the Party members and their new Zoomer anxiously watched and prayed the older boys would live.

Something gave way and Billy howled again, triumphant feral glee.

“Jump, Harrington!”

“I already told you–“

“JUMP DAMNIT!”

Harrington jumped and the earth surrounding Hawkins swayed.

Billy would never admit this, however, playing basketball with the guy had given him ample opportunity to study Steve Harrington, his movements, how his body reacted to different motions. Such as how high Harrington could jump when he meant it and where his body fell naturally when gravity returned. Billy just needed to be fast enough. If his Camaro said anything, Billy was the definition of _**fast**_.

Harrington had barely cleared the ground before Billy rolled himself underneath the older boy's feet. Knees tucked and practically kissing his mouth, shoulders taking the weight of his body, palms planted firmly on the ground, Billy waited for gravity to do the rest. Seconds passed like hours; Billy ignored the shrieking cries of the monsters charging forward, felt the vibrations of the approaching thunder, bent further forward under Harrington's weight and thrust up.

&&&&

Once Billy had felt Harrington's weight leave him, he pushed up, using his arm strength to throw his own body into the air and over the charging hellhounds. Billy crashed hard, feet first, snapping the neck of his latest landing pad before twisting to snap a tornado kick into the face of a jumper. Earth trembling, thunder crashing, Billy fought as unpredictably as a sea storm. Each kick full powered and maximized for death. He ran at the walls, jumping and pushing off for extra strength, twisting between claws, around teeth. Grabbing skin and throwing dogs at other dogs. Snarling. Roaring. As feral as the beasts around him. Thriving in the growing thrum pounding in his veins. Ignoring the stings of cuts and gashes from whenever Billy was too slow to fully dodge.

Distantly, he could make out voices of some type over the chittering screams but in the end, with black monster blood coating his legs to his knees and adrenaline pumping liquid fire through his veins, Billy didn't give a crap anymore. Petrichor raced thick and wet on the wind barreling through the tunnel, filling his nostrils and sinking deep in his lungs, wiped away the rot permeating the tunnel.

Only a few hellhounds remained still alive and kicking. The rest lay scattered across the floor, heads or chests pulpy caverns. Trip hazards or effective weapons. But as the tunnel rumbled with thunder and a fine mist began to coat them, those still attempting to bring Billy down, paused. Heads lifting, clawed feet shifting nervously, Billy could almost believe they were tasting the air. Good.

“How do you bitches feel about baths? Cause I got a good soak all cued up for ya!” Billy whooped, rejoicing in the spray soaking his back, feeling the earth tremble harder under his boots. The dogs backed away, slowly at first, then faster as water began to flood over the vine covered floor.

As crazy as everything had been leading to this point, Billy loved it when a plan came together. Loved the feeling of water soaking through the leather of his boots and squishing between his toes; the way his jeans hung heavier on his hips the more water drenched them. Water made sense. It was calm or it was rage; it was never commanded but it could be coaxed into obeying. It was the strongest element Billy knew and he loved it for all it's contradictions.

Smiling toothily, gleeful and triumphant and proud, Billy flexed his wrist and pushed his hand forward. Ignored the sudden dousing of ice in his veins and copper flooding his throat. Shit, it had been too long since he had last let loose this severely. Billy wouldn't let any of his sudden wooziness appear on his face (had too much training for that to happen), merely planted his feet deeper and pushed past the pain.

Of course, Billy is himself and the universe loves to screw him over every time something is going right or well for a change.

He hadn't noticed over the cold of the water soaking him through and he hadn't known there was any danger besides the hellhounds. But it became painfully obvious he should have pulled a Harrington and _kept moving his_ _ **feet**_ **.** One of the vines he had carelessly disregarded as being mere vegetation had coiled its way up his leg, slow and predator like. Billy hadn't felt a thing, drunk on his success, pushing his beloved element forward to sweep away his enemies in the tide. Silk wet coldness flowed around him, brushing against his shoulders and back like a content cat.

Hellhounds screamed.

Water hissed and roared.

The vine snapped taught and yanked him off balance. Fire lanced through his knee. Billy lost his control and frigid water closed around him before he could join the hellhounds screams.


	2. Below The Earth, Way Down We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve would like to get off this concussion inducing roller-coaster of a night, please and thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So each chapter is going to be from a different person's POV. It's a new style I'm giving a try and I'd love feedback on my success or failure with it. I probably won't be doing POV's from the kids because we already get that in the show itself (and frankly those kids are too smart for me to accurately portray.) I also am not planning more than eight or nine chapters total. 
> 
> Honestly, after an initial rocky start, Steve's chapter is so far my favorite. He's so snarky and sassy and adorable! I have never had a concussion myself however so if anyone reading who has had one notices flaws or missed symptoms, please let me know!
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful support you've given me with the first chapter! I hope this second one is just as enjoyed!

_Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve?_   
_Whoa, we get what we deserve_

_And way down we go_   
_Way down we go_   
_Say way down we go_   
_Way down we go_

_You let your feet run wild_   
_Time has come as we all, oh, go down_   
_Yeah but for the fall, ooh, my_   
_Do you dare to look him right in the eyes? Yeah_

_Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark_   
_Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall_   
_And they will run you down, down 'til you go_   
_Yeah, so you can't crawl no more_

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**Below The Earth, Way Down We Go**

Looking up and seeing that distinctive blond 'do, hearing calm urgency where only a short hour ago maniacal fury had shattered his eardrums like a certain glass plate breaking over his head, Steve Harrington can honestly say he has no idea how to feel. Emotionally speaking. He's feeling his face just fine, bone aching throbs and lightening arc stings a chaotic mess in his nerves. Steve can't tell if the world is actually swirling or if its the stupid toxic fluff polluting the air messing with his vision. There's a headache brewing into a migraine somewhere behind his left eyeball, only held at bay by the adrenaline. His **HAIR** hurts! How is that even a thing?! Anyway, pain is an easy feeling for all Steve could REALLY do without it right now what with, ya know, fighting for his life and these stupid, brave shithead kids lives against inter-dimensional creatures from Hell.

Though if nothing else, fighting for your life keeps one from dwelling on other kinds of pain...

Like heartbreak, for example.

Where was he going with all this? Oh, right, Billy Hargrove, Dustin, Demo-freaking-dogs...

Has Steve ever told anyone how much he hates concussions? Probably told Nancy at some point...Maybe...

Ugh, hello, Reality. Missed your knives stabbing my heart just so freaking much!

Steve had never imagined his night, weekend, hell, his LIFE, going like this. Like, on one hand, his life has gotten...better? Almost since last year when he helped fight off the demogorgon thing and had his nose rubbed physically in just how _small_ he is in the grand scheme of things. Nancy and he had a good thing, he thinks. Last Christmas had been the first Christmas in....oh, Lord, YEARS Steve had not spent alone or drunk or high. And these past few days, running around with Dustin Henderson and then Lucas and Max, had actually been kind of...well, fun. A nice distraction from the fact that Nancy called Steve bullshit only to turn around and be a hypocritical bitch and cheat on him. They hadn't physically said the words “break up” and it certainly hadn't been their first fight, and Steve had never cheated on any of the girls he's dated. Not once even when he was the asshole King Steve, Ruler of Hawkins High. Because that's the problem with small towns. Every girl knows and is some kind of friend with another so if a guy goes and screws up with one, he's screwed over any chance with all. So yes, he might have told Nancy it was fine, but he's really, truly, NOT. He's apocalyptic to the point of actually being grateful there are monsters he can beat the shit out of. If he was still the asshole he had been last year, he could completely ruin Nancy, Jonathan. It's frightening that he still might if he can't get all this anger out on the dogs. On the other hand, he could really, _**really**_ do without the nightmares or the sheer exhaustion of trying to be normal around everyone. Yeah, Tommy and Carol blame Nance for Steve “going soft” but it wasn't her, not really. He can't give her that credit, not now, not when she's probably gone off and done something government-jail stupid.

Not thinking about Nancy doing anything (Jonathan) else. Nope. Not. Thinking. About. That.

There's also Billy Hargrove and isn't that just Karma? He's a firestorm compared to Steve's blizzard, running hot and fast and careening towards the same wall Steve had been headed toward before Barb, before Will, before flickering Christmas lights and nail-studded bats slamming home-runs in nine-feet tall monster flesh. Steve had been the bully is now turned bullied. Karma, irony, cosmic justice, who cares. Billy Hargrove roared into town and Steve has to fend him off on top of fielding Nancy's guilt-run harebrained scheme of going against the government while also trying to salvage a relationship he can see sinking but doesn't want to acknowledge the inevitability. And maybe Steve could hate the blond boy for taking Steve's spot as Top Dog, maybe he could hate him for pushing Steve around at school, for beating his face in tonight. But while Steve has never been the brightest crayon color in the box, he's perfected the art of observation and manipulation. His parents are absolute shit at being parents, but everything Steve has learned in order to turn life to his liking he learned from watching them. So the first time Steve had seen Hargrove, heard the Camaro thunder into the school parking lot, blasting Scorpions _Rock You Like A Hurricane_ (which is ridiculously fitting, seriously), and climb out of the sapphire blue car, Steve had started observing.

He didn't like what he saw.

For a half second, the new kid had looked around, taking in the cracked pavement full of hardy weeds and hoard of pastel colors trickling into the buildings.

Sorrow.

Loneliness.

Fear.

Frustration.

All flashed quickly through the boy's pale eyes and down turned lips, caught and filed in Steve's head. Watched the blond turn to the young red head climbing out of the passenger side, snapped out instructions to which she flipped him off for. Steve had thought “rude” at the time, subconsciously filed the flare of pained fury before it was banked down into impervious control.

Every slammed door, every echoing unanswered call when he walks in the front door. Hasn't even spoken a single word to the new kid and already Steve wants to tell him that there is someone here that understands, at least a little.

New Kid also looks like he could bench press Steve before folding him into a pretzel so, yeah, Steve never really got around to approaching Billy Hargrove.

Not that Hargrove had any problems approaching Steve. Never to talk though. Unless Steve counted those stupid comments meant to get a rise out of him. “Plenty of bitches” Steve's ass! That is honestly the most aggravating phrase Steve had ever heard. But what made it so aggravating is the fact that Hargrove's smiles (smirks, be honest Steve) never reached his baby blues. Steve couldn't call what Hargrove's eyes spoke as completely dead, there was -is- too much anger. But for such a fiery personality, the Californian never engaged beyond his now-moment. Not like Steve. Girls like to say Steve's eyes were warm like hot chocolate. They aren't. Steve knows his eyes show only _bullshit_.

Then tonight, and Steve wished upon every shooting star he's ever witnessed that he hadn't learned how to observe so well. Hargrove wasn't psychotic earlier. Not in the way those innocent kids believed. He had merely reached his shatter point. One blow too many. One feather too much on a precarious tower. It was Hargrove laughing which clued Steve in. Nothing different. Hargrove always laughed before a fight; whooped, hollered, crowed to the heavens in bloodthirsty glee. But this time is not like those times. No drinks to slur the lines, no weed to fuel the fire. All the signs for those were absent from Hargrove's scent, from his posture. What wasn't absent were the bloodshot eyes. When every other indicator is gone, all Steve can conclude is Hargrove cried before reaching the Byers. Cried long and hard and helplessly alone. It's why Steve couldn't go full out with Hargrove, like he couldn't go full out with Jonathan the year prior.

The guy already had enough on his plate, didn't need Steve's bullshit on top.

So Steve tried to deescalate Hargrove, tried to give the other boy an out.

“Nobody tells me what to do.”

Lies. Lies lies lieslieslieslies!

Based on the broken, ragged screams of rage, the unshed tears pooling in blazing eyes, the _**agony**_ blossoming across Steve's face....

Yeah, he failed. Again. Steve Harrington, King of _Bullshit_ , everyone.

Steve is a little angry because Hargrove's reaction is rude in its extreme overreaction and angry at himself because once again, Steve must have said the wrong thing in the wrong way. Which isn't Steve's fault entirely because he's trying, damnit!

So, Steve doesn't know the **whys** or **hows** that have created the Billy Hargrove walking Hawkins, but its dark shit that makes every protective instinct he's realizing he has rise and rattle in warning. Can already feel the force vibrations in his arms from his bat connecting with Hargrove's demons. A different sort from what is howling down the tunnel at him and Dustin, but a demon is a demon and a nail bat is an effective weapon in every scenario.

So yes, Steve is feeling protective on top of angry heaped over fear. Also Steve is seriously confused, because Billy Hargrove shouldn't be here as according to the shitheads Max had taken care of him. Not permanently, Steve, gosh! Max isn't a murdering psycho like that asshole.

But he is and he's staring at Steve in a way that Steve has never seen from Hargrove. Like in the time between Hargrove beating Steve's face to pumpkin mush and now, he's found something to ground himself. And Steve is beyond grateful, really! Just kind of wishes the boy had found that grounding before Steve's face suffered the brunt of Hargrove's shattered pieces. This Billy Hargrove...his eyes are calm if slightly terrified, based on the split second jerks towards the echoing calls of the demodogs. His posture open and begging for a scrap of trust.....just once...

Steve sticks the bat in his backpack, grabs Dustin by his belt and the back of his jacket, and tosses the protesting boy with a harsh grunt of effort to the extended hand of Steve's personal bully (and new secret project) before using the recoil from the effort to leap up to the top of the rope. It's while dangling there, watching the dogs race underneath him, that Steve wonders if this is how Nancy felt when fighting alongside Jonathan. Like, the weight of everything isn't just on his shoulders.

It's really, REALLY, nice.

They bubbled from his belly and Steve didn't even attempt to stop the laughter as it spilled over. It's so freaking NICE to not be the third wheel, on the outside looking in, to have Hargrove's wild fire on his side for once instead of focused against him. Steve's kids are safe, protected behind Hargrove's bulk, and Steve knows, like he knows Nancy and Jonathan did more than probably break quite a few NDAs, that Billy Hargrove would never let _anything_ touch the kids.

Hargrove could have done so much worse to Lucas than merely shoving him up against a bookcase.

Then Hargrove's hand is extending toward Steve and Hargrove is _**smiling**_ like he's buried under a pile of fluffy kittens..... aaaaaand that is an image Steve never, ever thought he'd associate with Billy Hargrove. “C'mon, Harrington. Let's get you out of that shit hole before those Hellhounds decide to use your ass as a chew toy.” Hargrove is laughing with Steve, not at Steve, and there is a change right there that Steve could get behind.

It's seconds of relieved happiness. Of breathing and knowing that chances are still high of waking in the morning, not dead, and free of the Upside Down.

Then. Then then then. Always then...

Everything goes wrong.

All warning Steve receives is Hargrove releasing a soft gasping grunt then Steve is breathing dirt instead of air and his shoulder is screaming and he can't hold onto the rope under Hargrove's weight as well as Steve's own.

They fall.

&&&&

Steve may have been failing Biology but he can confidently say that lungs are supposed to be bring in oxygen not trying to escape through his ribcage. There is also no way he's going to be able to walk tomorrow...or for the next two weeks, provided he and Hargrove survive. Steve's a talking, not yet walking – give him a minute, like OWWWWW, HOLY SHIT, HELL! – bruise with points flaring higher where the weird roots of the tunnel are digging into his back and hips. White hot knives where the nails of his bat have bitten through his jacket and shirt, digging into the flesh of his shoulder. Ears ringing and bright starbursts of light flaring in his vision coincide with the migraine his headache has finally become.

Oh, he's gonna puke. He is literally going to hurl as he's eaten by inter-dimensional flower dogs. Some heroic babysitter he is. Hargrove is going to mock him for the rest of _**eternity**_.

Steve attempted to roll over, horror stories of teens passing out drunk only to die choking on their own vomit playing in his head.

Sight swimming like a Tilt-a-whirl, gut roiling, Steve lay on his side and simply breathed through the pain, the nausea.

Ow. Ow. OWOWOWOW.

Why were humans created with pain receptors again? Seems to Steve like a MASSIVE design flaw.

_ **DANGER** _

Freezing, Steve listens to the warning from his sixth sense, relatively new thing that it is, hiss and spark. He really does NOT want to open his eyes, wants to be a child believing in the monster not being able to see him if he can't see the monster, except there is a second set of lungs breathing raggedly in conjunction with his own.

Hargrove.

Steve blinks and it takes everything in him not to scream. If Steve's landing had been rough, Hargrove's had been textbook definition of Murphy's Law at work. At least Steve hadn't landed on top of a freaking DEMODOG!

There's screaming above them, the kids audible in their distress. If circumstances had been different, they would already be on their way back to the Byers and maybe Steve would be fending off Hargrove's anger over the dented front bumper. Maybe he would be having to explain everything involving the Upside Down and El and Hawkins Lab for the third time because Hargrove is having a hard time accepting that monsters and little girls with powers are a fact of reality now. As it is, Steve is pushing himself to his feet, slowly, praying his movements aren't going to be what sets the dogs off. What gets them both killed. Bites through his swollen lip when the nails rip from his shoulder, swallowing a scream.

As it is, Hargrove is frozen on top of a demodog, staring down literal death as the creature turns its head and snarls at the blond. Petals peeling apart and dripping viscous saliva, snarls building into a crescendo shriek.

Steve is pretty sure he's having a heart attack right now. Can the kids hear his heart beating against his sternum, doing its damn best to break free from his body?

Hargrove is inching back ( **TOO SLOW! TOO DAMN SLOW**!) and Steve is forced to watch in snapshots of moments.

Demodog tensing.

Hargrove's hands making contact with the dirt of the tunnel.

Demodog bracing itself, beginning to force itself up.

Hargrove's hips clearing the body of the dog.

Steve screams, can feel his vocal chords vibrating with the force. Can't hear the words ringing in his ears.

“ **GET UP, HARGROVE!”**

The 'dog scrambles and Hargrove throws his body into a backwards roll, his foot connecting under those vicious petals and Steve is left blinking in dumbfounded shock as the 'dog _flies_ past Steve's face, back the way they had come earlier. Under normal circumstances, the yelp from the 'dog and its pack members would have been hilarious. Except currently, Steve is too busy thinking about how that could have been him in the place of the demodog and the tunnel could have been the Byers hallway and that all adds up to Steve being beyond grateful that Hargrove stuck to punching Steve if his kicks were that damn powerful.

Hargrove ends his move in a crouch, leaving Steve a little jealous of the guy's grace, and infinitely grateful that laser focus is not directed at him. Then Steve turns, morbidly wanting to know how deep in shit they're wading.

There's no preventing the whimper when he sees at least fifteen demodogs snarling at them, cloaked nightmare fuel in half shadows and eerie dandelion fluff.

He is never going to be able to sleep again, is he?!

“What's the play, Hargrove?” Steve **squeaks –** he admits its a squeak, nothing manly or brave in the tone whatsoever – as he tries to reach for the bat only to be painfully reminded of how that option is no longer available to him as the movement tears open what blood had begun to scab over the gashes in his shoulder. Steve grasps his shoulder, puts pressure on the wounds. Hargrove is silent, locked in a staring contest with the 'dogs (and how does that even work without eyes?!). Maybe he didn't hear Steve?

“Any time now would be great!” This came out stronger, thank goodness. Manly reputation restoring!

Still Hargrove doesn't reply however this time, Steve doesn't find a fault with that as the demodogs have begun to advance.

Then Hargrove is crouching lower – which, how?! Those jeans are tighter than sin as Steve's grandma would say – and snarling right back. And also, honestly, its kind of nice to get some validation to Steve's theory of Billy Hargrove being a wild, feral child raised by wolves or bears or something else incredibly predatory.

But, now is REALLY not the time to get into a Alpha pissing contest with inter-dimensional monsters that can and will kill them, eat them, and shit them out later.

“Hargrove?!” Yep, a nice manly yelp. Just what the doctor ordered.

Oh. Oh oh OH Steve does NOT like that smirk. That is a very bad smirk. “Yeah, I got a play for ya, Pretty Boy. Gonna need ya to jump high as you can when I say.”

Seriously?! Jumping?! That's Hargrove's big play?!

“What will that accomplish?!” It's a freaking legitimate question! Hargrove better have a damn good explanation because jumping might buy them two seconds, tops and then what?

“Grab the rope or ledge and haul your ass out of this damn hole.” Nope. Yeah, no way in hell. That is a terrible explanation. Steve is so _**done**_ with this Californian hotshot MORON.

“What about you?! No, no, nonono NO! Hell NO! I hate your guts right now, Hargrove, but no one, not even a grade A asshole like you deserves this kind of death.” Steve is wagging a finger in Hargrove's face, like he's Steve's kid who has stolen cookies from the cookie jar before dinner. Wasn't Steve once Cool and The King? When did he become a Mom?!

“Awe, you are so _sweet_ , Princess.” Ah, that's right. Steve gained his Mom-mode when he started having to save the asses of sarcastic pieces of shits from dying horrific, gruesome deaths.

“Don't worry about me. I ain't dying in this shit ripoff Wonderland Rabbit Hole.”

Steve wanted to scream, to tear his precious _**HAIR**_ out, because that kind of cockiness, that kind of invincibility attitude, is a sure fire path to winding up six feet under.....okay, a further six feet. Twelve feet. Yay, Steve can MATH. But Steve can't reply, can't argue and try to get the stupid idiot to see sense, because said idiot is legitimately **howling** at the 'dogs which oddly enough seems to be working as a deterrent? It's a furious, feral sound. Sends goosebumps rocketing over Steve's skin. Sends the demodogs shuffling back a half-step. They don't know what to do. Steve doesn't know what to do.

Thank God Hargrove apparently does.

He howls again but this is his triumphant one, the one he gives when he beats his keg stand record, or when he makes an impossible shot on the court. And Steve...well, Steve allows himself to hope for no other reason than Billy Hargrove is the strongest guy Steve knows.

“Jump, Harrington!”

_ SERIOUSLY?! _

“I already told you– ”

“JUMP DAMNIT!”

He will never be able to explain what on earth possessed him to follow through with Hargrove's demand. Whether it was the tone Hargrove used or Steve's sheer desire to prove to Hargrove that this plan is literal crap. Whatever the case was, Steve jumped.

“HOLY SHIT!” Steve screamed in surprise, embarrassingly high pitched as the expected failed landing instead turned into him being rocket launched. Air exploded from him as his chest collided with the ledge; fingers dug into the loose dirt and the kids helping haul him out. Once he managed to pull himself out of Hell, Steve flopped on his back and groaned.

“Ow.”

“You doing okay there, Buddy? How many fingers am I holding up?” Dustin leaned uncomfortably close, three fingers almost jammed up Steve's nose.

“It's about to be none if you don't get them away from my face, Dipshit.” Steve would have laughed at how quickly Dustin yanked his fingers back if Steve's whole everything wasn't flaring hotter than summer heated asphalt. “Help me up, would ya? We still got to get Hargrove's dumb ass out of there. Before he does something stupid, like get eaten.” Because if he hasn't already, Steve is literally going to murder the blond asshole himself. Steve knows the Chief of Police. Hopper would totally help him cover it up.

“Yeeee....aah, about that....” Lucas' hesitant soft call froze Dustin and Steve. Turning to face the oddly silent remaining three kids, Steve didn't even care if his voice cracked.

“What is going on down there, Sinclair?!” Please don't let these kids be watching Hargrove getting ripped apart!

Mike answered this time, a rare note of begrudging admiration apparent in his voice. “I don't think that asshole needs help.” Because he's already dead?! Steve needs answers, damnit, not these vague crap half-answers!

Dustin scurried over, curiosity overwhelming him as he shoved his way between Mike and a frozen Max. His eyes blew wide open, darting about frantically, trying to keep up with everything he could pick out in the dim light of the tunnel. A low appreciative whistle escaped him.

“Damn, Max! Your brother is a badass! A total asshole, but also a badass!” Dustin takes on a contemplative tone. “A basshole?” Everyone turned as one, staring down Dustin and collectively making him re-evaluate his life choices. “Yeah, I'm-I'm just going to shut up now.”

“Good choice, Buddy.” Steve claps the kid on the shoulder because while that particular combo of words is truly painful, the kid's heart is in the right place.

The fiery redheaded girl turned back to watching the show happening below. Too stunned by this side of her step-brother to correct or comment. In this moment, Billy Hargrove resembled a real life super-hero, fighting off creatures from Hell bare handed. He really was badass.

Steve splits his attention between watching Max and watching Hargrove. Mostly though, he watches Hargrove. There are no good words to describe what Steve is seeing. It's like...it's like Hargrove is water and air and immovable earth. Every kick echoes like a gunshot. Hargrove shoots off a wall, twisting between two airborne 'dogs, landing in a roll that gets him close enough to strike out and grip the throat of another 'dog, lifting himself and the 'dog in his hand up before slamming it down to the ground. Bones crunch and the demodog is still. Hargrove bends backwards, lets another 'dog sail over his body, flips over to drive both heels into the skull of a demodog creeping up on him from behind. Dodges, spins, ducks and twists. And Steve can see when he fails, can almost hear Hargrove's hiss of pain over the ever frustrated shrieks. But it's suddenly so hard to believe that they are going to lose someone else this night. So hard to understand that the longer Hargrove is down in those tunnels, the higher his chance of dying.

Especially when Billy Hargrove is literally plucking a demodog from mid-air and ripping it in two. Honest to God, Steve watches dumbfounded as Hargrove uses the severed head with the attached spine to whip away one demodog and the main body as a bowling ball into the open jaws of another.

Steve hopes.

It's down to five against one when the water comes. Hargrove is laughing, covered in black blood and monster viscera and more alive than Steve has ever seen him. Surrounded by water, the element flowing around Hargrove like he's a rock in the midst of a mighty river, Steve wants to holler with joy.

They are all going to make it out!

Just this once, Steve won't be the cause of a death.

The last thing Steve sees is Billy Hargrove's eyes, wide with sudden terror, as he's yanked towards the floor and the water stops flowing around and instead floods over.

Max screams as she loses sight of Billy in the raging black waters flooding the tunnel.

Steve wants to scream with her. He failed.

**Again.**

&&&&

Max is wriggling like a caught fish in his arms, trying desperately to jump in the still flooded tunnel. Her screaming calls for her step-brother leave his ears ringing and his headache shooting to migraine levels of pain. Now Steve knows he's not the brightest ( _You're bullshit_ whispers a voice that he ignores sounds too much like Nancy) but he is certainly the most observant guy in Hawkins with the One Exception, however, despite the incredibly rocky relationship between Max and Billy – that everyone absolutely knew about; seriously, one would have to be blind _and_ deaf not to see it – Max is a good girl and she never would have wanted her asshole of a step-brother dead. Threatened and cowed into being less of an ass to her and her friends – does Steve count in that number? And really, what has become of his life that he **wants** to be counted as a friend to a bunch of 13 year old kids?! – but never **dead**. This is devastating to her and traumatizing to all the kids.

Seeing someone die, even one as confusing as Billy Hargrove, is never easy or good.

And Steve hates what he has to do now because its going to HURT, however they can't stay here. Honestly, he's surprised old man Merrill hasn't come out with his shotgun to find out what is making such a ruckus in his field. But Steve will take it because he's got four panicking, traumatized kids to wrangle into a car he doesn't own whose rightful owner is certainly floating dead somewhere under this field. So, horse gift or however the stupid saying goes.

“Max, c'mon. He's gone, Max. You gotta let go.” Steve does his best to soothe even as his body protests violently against Max and her **pointy** body parts digging into his injuries further. “He's gone, Max, Billy's gone.”

Max fights harder and if he wasn't dead already, Steve might actually kill Billy for teaching Max to be such a scrapper.

“NO! HE'S NOT! BILLY CAN SWIM! HE'S A SURFER AND A LIFEGUARD FOR THREE YEARS AND HE'S BEEN THE SWIM TEAM CHAMPION SINCE HE WAS 10! BILLY'S **NOT DEAD!** ” Max slows as her rant dies, panting for air and crying silently in Steve's arms. “Billy can swim. Billy, Billy is practically half fish. He can, he can swim. He's gonna come up for air. He'll, he'll come up.” Steve carefully wipes her tears away; brushes away her fiery hair that has become sweat stuck to her face. Rocks her trembling body slowly like he's seen Mrs. Byers do with Will and Mrs. Wheeler with all three of her kids.

“Okay, Max, okay. We'll wait a few more minutes.”

All is silent for a few moments save for the dull roar of the water churning through the ground below them. Then Dustin opened his mouth and Steve has never wanted to kill the kid more.

“He's definitely dead. I mean, maybe yeah he would have survived under normal circumstances but this isn't normal!”

Steve felt Max tense, could feel her anger like fire on his skin. She's so much like her brother, no matter what either says....has said. He had to stop Dustin before Max pushed him into the water.

“Henderson, shut up right now.”

Dustin doesn't listen. “It's November so that water has to be damn near close to freezing and to suddenly be swallowed up by that amount of water, his body would have gone into, like, immediate shock.”

“Henderson!”

Nope, still not listening. Did Steve just have a voice that says “Don't listen to me”?

“AND! He was drugged with the equivalent of HORSE TRANQUILIZERS meant to keep a Flayed Will from breaking loose and wreaking havoc. I'm surprised and impressed he managed to find us with his head fogged like that let alone fight and, ya know, actually be awake and not a drooling mess on the floor.”

“HENDERSON SHUT U- Wait...HORSE TRANQUILIZERS?!” Steve gaped at the three boys who suddenly looked incredibly nervous. Defiant still, yes because of course they can never accept responsibility when its clearly for the good of the world, but this time it's tempered with a blissful addition of nervousness. “WHO SHOT HARGROVE WITH HORSE TRANQUILIZERS?! HOW DID YOU EVEN GET HORSE TRANQUILIZERS?!”

As a collective one, the boys pointed at the fuming red head in Steve's arms. Thankfully, Dustin didn't take the initiative to explain what had happened after Steve passed out. Unfortunately, Mike decided to take control.

“Max grabbed the needle Mrs. Byers had been using to keep Will sedated and jammed the thing in that asshole's neck while you were lying on the floor being a pathetic piece of shit getting your ass kicked.”

“MIKE!”

“Not cool, man!”

Dustin and Lucas both turned on Mike, bewildered anger at the boy's vitriol. Steve didn't care. He was too busy drowning in red and white. None of which came from the young girl that had forced herself to her feet and began arguing vehemently. Steve is not the smartest person. He does know however, that tranquilizers are not a substance to be messing around with. And he knows that Mike's attitude has gone too far for too damn long.

Getting to his feet is easier than he would have believed a minute ago. His pain has been swept away in his rare wrath. These children are going to listen to him and they are going to go back to the Byers home to wait for everyone else and if **anyone** gave him lip, so help him GOD...

“ _ **ENOUGH!”**_ Steve bellowed in a volume no one had ever heard from him. The Party and Zoomer froze, eyes locked on the suddenly towering form of the self designated babysitter. Steve had never intimidated them before, had never been seen as a threat like Billy Hargrove with his fury and muscle mass. In this moment, illuminated by the bright Camaro headlights, blood and bruises and unidentifiable substances a stark contrast to pale skin, Steve appeared to be incredibly capable of murdering them all. Suddenly, Steve seemed taller, seemed to have gained pounds of muscle that strained the fabric of his clothes, his fists clenched and knuckle white at his sides. Four kids took a step back from a teenager that no longer gave off the aura of being a pushover.

“You are all going to turn your asses around and march into the car.” Steve spoke normally, not raising his voice beyond that initial word. “No one is going to say a single word until Hopper and Joyce get back. Then you will all explain to _them_ how this shit storm of a night happened.” The kids watched transfixed and downright terrified as Steve Harrington threatened them more thoroughly than any of their parents. Their terror lay in the near subsonic purr contained in Steve's voice. “They will deal with you because right now, I can't without my hands finding their way around your necks. You could have killed a man before the water ever had a chance too and none of you realize this. So no, right now, I don't want to hear a peep from any of you.” Steve would eat them alive and all four kids obeyed their instincts this once.

“Go.” He pointed to the Camaro.

The kids marched.

&&&&

Taking a moment to simply breathe and hopefully shove a tiny bit of his rage away, Steve allowed his eyes to fall on the pitch black hole three steps to his right. Oil slick water quietly burbled on its journey and for the briefest of moments, Steve thought he saw a pale face rise to the surface. Brown eyes wide with horror, Steve stared at the apparition in the water. Blond curls an angelic halo around corpse grey skin, milky eyes where blue fire had once resided staring accusing at the living, mouth frozen in a snarl of wrath and terror, Billy Hargrove's face floated on the surface of the water for a single heartbeat of time. Steve blinks and blond is replaced by red, Billy is now Barb and Barb never had Billy's fire so her face speaks only of terror, half eaten as it is. His mouth drops open, to scream or beg, he's not sure, and the face slips beneath the black waters without even a ripple.

Air explodes from him, unused and stale. Steve scrambles away from the tunnel, the demodogs, the **face** , and double times it to the car, throwing his bag and tunnel gear carelessly into the trunk. He's careful though in not slamming any doors because Billy might be dead, but the Camaro was his baby and Steve is one thousand percent sure the guy would find some way to haunt Steve's ass if he mistreated the car. So careful he goes, though he does speed a bit. It's a MUSCLE CAR! Steve has dreamed of owning a beauty like this and opening her up on Hawkins back roads the way Billy does. Yes, Steve is jealous. He'll admit that much at least. And Billy's Camaro handles like a sweet, sweet dream! The kids are blissfully silent and Steve can't make himself feel any regret for their reaction to him losing his collective shit on them.

As the Camaro roars down the blacktop, Steve thanks whoever is listening up there that it's closing in on two in the morning which means everyone sane is asleep in bed and not out on the roads liable to run into him. His head is pounding and by the way the road keeps deciding to add extra curves to an otherwise straight line, Steve really shouldn't be driving with a concussion. However, there is not a snowball's chance in Hell he is going to let Max drive again. Once was nightmare fuel enough. He is also vowing to never be suckered into giving any of the Party members driving lessons when they come of age. Steve could see himself going prematurely gray or, even worse:

**Bald.**

So yes, no driving lessons from Steve Harrington to anyone. His best feature wouldn't be able to handle the stress.

On a particularly straight bit of road (where the lines actually cooperate and stay straight), Steve risks a look at the kids.

Lucas looks like he's going to be sick, remorse and shame vying viciously for facial space. Honestly, it's what Steve expected from him. He may not have known the kids long in any sense, but he had seen them often enough around town or when he was dating Nancy that he had a pretty good measure of their characters. Lucas and Dustin would be the most remorseful; both boys being a lot more empathetic in rough situations. Dustin is sniffling, wipes at tears as Steve watches. It breaks Steve's heart, being cruel and threatening to kids. Especially to kids like Dustin who is honestly the coolest, smartest, kindest kid Steve has ever met. How Max doesn't see the heart of gold Dustin holds out to her, Steve has no clue. Mike is glaring out the window like the world had personally pissed him off. Steve scoffed softly under his breath. Michael Wheeler had always been made of piss and vinegar; the middle child and only male with a terribly dull father for a role model. Steve had never been able to connect with Mike and, seriously, after that comment about Steve's inability to fight, it's gonna take an act of God to get Steve to like Mike beyond being an attachment to Dustin and Lucas. Nancy and Mike are definitely related. Both controlling of the people and situations around them. Kid needs to shape up or he is never going to keep a girlfriend.

Max is also glaring out the window but it's different from Mike, not personally pissed off but more like if she doesn't glare, she's going to bawl and she's to tough to do that in front of boys. Steve can almost hear her justifying her actions, formulating an argument for why she was in the right. Probably consisted mostly of “Billy is an asshole” and “Steve was going to die if I didn't”. Trying to distract herself from the fact that said asshole brother is floating somewhere under Hawkins, blue cold and lifeless. Easier to remember the bad than the fact that her brother just **died** for the life of her and her friends. If she holds onto the anger she can't be swept under the tunnels as well.

And Steve, Steve _gets that_ , he does. But drugs are not something to joke around with, to stab someone willy nilly like. What if Hargrove had been allergic to a component in the drug? He could have gone into anaphylactic shock (See, Nance? Steve can know big words too!) and died from choking on vomit or.. or.. or.. asphyxiation or something! Steve has already resigned himself to burying the dead demodog in the fridge, he so did not sign up to also bury the body of his classmate who was murdered by the guy's step-sister. But because these kids are young, because they are merely kids, Steve can't allow them to go into these situations, make these kinds of choices, without understanding the very real consequences. They got away last year without much damage. No one really knew anyone who had died last year, although maybe Mike had known Barb like Steve had known Barb. As Nancy's friend. As a bookworm and killjoy.

Billy Hargrove is different.

Always different.

Max's step-brother. The jerk who almost ran the kids over. Steve's personal aggravating thorn-in-the-ass and...and Steve was kind of looking forward to figuring the guy out. From the get-go, Hargrove integrated himself into everyone's lives, made himself unforgettable, good or bad. Barb lived here her entire life and Steve couldn't recall much about her.

Vision swimming once again, Steve decided thinking is entirely overrated. Hopper and Mrs. Byers can deal with the brats. Steve's done his part. Protected the kids. Got beat to hell and watched a classmate die. Typical Steve Harrington screw up. First Barb, now Billy. Should start a club. Kill off everyone with a B name.

Dear God above, his head **hurts**.

Steve concentrated on driving and not thinking beyond hitting the brakes and turning the wheel.

Just....

Drive.

&&&&

Steve hates hospitals. Hates how they smell, hates how doctors and nurses poke and prod no matter how much he says he's fine or that what they are doing hurts even worse than the injury. Hates the whole aura they give off. Death, despair, futility. Every negative emotion feels seeped into the very brickwork of every hospital Steve has ever had the misfortune to visit.

Not even that fact that Will is fine, all things considered, merely exhausted and suffering a nasty burn can make Steve like hospitals. Watching Hopper and Joyce go off on the kids though...now that was a treat. Almost made the whole night worth it!

….

No...

Didn't even come close to making Bob's or Hargrove's death worth the upcoming nightmares.

Because Mike hasn't changed (too similar to his sister in that respect) and seeing Lucas and Dustin cry had physically hurt.

Because Hopper had to go tell Neil Hargrove his son is dead while dropping Max off at home. Steve did NOT envy the police chief. And Hopper's own reaction to Billy Hargrove's passing....Steve knew Hopper cared, could see it in the way the guy hovered over all of them, heard it in his voice when he gave Max a vague answer about how he knew Billy Hargrove, felt it in the way those tree trunk arms held Steve as he finally lost his battle against his emotions. Watching those big shoulders slump, the strong spine bend beneath the weight of a another death. Steve had to turn away, surreptitiously wipe tears from his eyes. 

Because Billy Hargrove is an asshole is a hero is someone who got Hopper to care about him and Steve is never going to figure out HOW.

So yes, Steve doesn't like hospitals. Doesn't need doctors telling him he has a severe concussion or that he needs twenty-seven stitches (seven in his hairline and twenty in his shoulder). Doesn't need a nurse to reprimand him for moving while she's attempting to wrap his bruised ribs. Definitely doesn't need Nancy glaring at him over Mike's shoulder as the brat complains to her about being yelled at for not staying put, for helping mastermind the whole tunnel plan. Like she has any right to judge him when Steve did everything in his power to protect her ungrateful brat of a kid brother. Doesn't need Dustin trying to convince his mom to let Steve stay so he doesn't die in his sleep or something because, again, concussion. Doesn't need Lucas apologizing in such a quiet, broken voice before leaving the car.

Steve doesn't NEED or WANT to be an adult right now.

All he needs is his bed and enough pain medication to put him under deep enough that he can get a solid six hours of nightmare free sleep.

**RING RING**

Okay.

He might have screamed....just a little. Mostly in frustration because c'mon! He's not even through his front door yet and his phone is ringing!?

Like, NO.

Just, screw the phone and the caller and Life and stupid, evil dimensional monsters.

Maybe the caller sensed Steve's Hate Vibes because the phone stopped once he was two steps in. Giving it s distrustful look, as if daring it to ring before Steve can pass as a human being once more, Steve went about dropping everything in the vague direction of where they needed to be as he made his way to his room.

**RING RING**

Practically ripping the whole phone from the wall (like Nancy last night, before the dogs and the tunnels and Billy, Billy,BillyBilly _BILLY_ ), Steve snarled, for once not caring about keeping up the Harrington image of perfection.

“ _ **What do you want?”**_

“....Steve...? It's...This is Rebekah. Uh, Rebekah Shore?” Steve deflates, just collapses against the wall and slides to sit on the floor. Carefully rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Bites back a whimper as his head swims and pounds from the roller-coaster he's putting his body through. How could he have used that kind of tone on Becky?! Sure, he might not have known it was her, but that's no excuse! “Is...is this a bad time?”

“What?! No! Gosh, no, no. Beck, I am so sorry! I've, uh, I've just had a really rough couple of days, that's all. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that.” Steve kind of hates himself even more because Becky sounds exhausted and scared and nothing like the strong firecracker who had helped him pass English. “What's wrong?”

“I...I, uh, I need your help, Steve.”

It's not even a question. Steve is a canyon beyond exhausted and three steps from just collapsing wherever he stands. He has had a year's worth of dealing with frustrating people and would be ecstatically happy to find a hole he can crawl into and hibernate.

“What do you need?”

“Do you have any clothes you don't mind donating? Nothing I own will fit him. Bit of a size difference and all that.” Ooookay, not the request he was thinking she would ask. And while she said “him”, Steve is fairly confident she didn't pick up another stray cat, because, well, she's asking for human clothes.

“Um, yeah, I think I've got a couple pairs of sweatpants and some t-shirts I hardly ever wear. But, uh, can I ask who they are for?”

She's quiet for a while and Steve listens to her breathing, trying to find some sign of increased distress. Any reason for him to rush over with his nail bat in hand. He's going to speak, tell her he doesn't honestly need to know who the clothes are for, he's just curious because the request is so odd, when he hears it.

A faint, choked whimper of a scream, cut off and malformed. Too faint to have been Becky's and too deep to be female.

And Steve knows that sound. God above, he knows it even though he has never heard it pass those ridiculous cherry red lips. That sound is every bit as heartbreaking as he imagined it while Steve watched helplessly from above.

Steve's voice is a trembling mess, hardly more than a croak in and of itself.

“Becks...Becky....who's there with you?”

Prayers are stumbling through his mind, half-formed and a garbled gook of a mess, but prayers all the same.

Rebekah sighs and those are definitely tears he hears in the shuddering quality of her breath.

“I found him...Steve, I found Billy Hargrove and I need help. He's...oh, stars, Steve....there's so much blood!” She bites through a sob and Steve HATES that he isn't there yet, can't take her in his arms like she always did when he got frustrated or came to their tutoring sessions worn thin from everything. He's also trying really hard not to cry himself because the relief he's feeling....it's overwhelming and too MUCH to contain.

“Beck, I am on my way, but I need you to be calm, okay? Can you bring Hargrove to the hospital?” That's Steve's second biggest question after HOW IS BILLY HARGROVE ALIVE?! Steve knows Rebekah, knows she would have taken Hargrove straight to the hospital if there is as much blood as she's making there out to be.

“I can't. There's....there's something truly wrong with his wounds...I can't trust him in a hospital because I fear they will end up killing him in their ignorance.” Steve can hear the “or worse” though Rebekah never says so out loud. She goes quiet again, but the scream (Hargrove _Hargrove_ _ **HARGROVE**_ ) echoes out again, louder now like she's gotten closer. Steve can hear her soothing _**Hargrove**_ _ **,**_ soft sounds and repeated words of “she's here” and “It's okay, you'll feel better soon, I promise”.

Becky has always had this calming, warm aura and now is no different despite the fact that they are only communicating through a phone line. Steve basks in the feeling, this infinitesimally tiny slice of peace in his otherwise chaotic life. Hargrove falls silent, no longer screaming loud enough for Steve to hear but his groans ring in Steve's ears.

“I'm coming over, Becks. But...I'd like to bring Chief Hopper, if you'd let me?” She's silent and Steve has never gotten the full story but Becky has always been wary of authority figures. Especially those in government type positions. Ever since the Upside-Down and little girls with powers and shady government labs that haven't learned the universal truth of their mortality, Steve gets it. He wouldn't (doesn't) want anything to do with the American government. But he's learned the world doesn't care what Steve wants. All he can do is roll with the punches and swing his bat with every bit of strength he has. “I promise, you can trust him. He's good people and he'll know what to do. But if you really don't want him to come, then I won't bring him.”

“....Okay. Bring him. You remember how to get to my house?”

“Yeah, I'll be there with Hop in thirty minutes.”

Hargrove screamed.

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Steve hung up to Becky's soft thanks and gave himself five seconds to breathe in the fact that he hadn't failed (BarbBARB **BARB** ), that only Bob had been lost to the Upside-Down, that Max wouldn't have to live with the guilt of her brother's death weighing over her shoulders.

Then he's dialing Hawkins PD and playing phone round-robin until _finally_ Hopper's secretary Flo begrudgingly agrees to pass on Steve's Not-A-Prank message as soon as possible.

“Hop, don't let the Hargroves know but I need you to meet me at the Byer's driveway. It's life or death urgent.” Steve feels bad for being so abrupt with the woman and for hanging up without waiting for a reply but it's been five minutes since he hung up with Becky and he still needs to grab the clothes.

Brain pounding on his skull, eyes screaming against the winter sunlight, Steve breaks every speed limit and runs more than a few red lights, but....

Hargrove.

Becky.

Blood.

Life?

Death?

He slows down enough to wave Hopper into following him (and God Bless that man for trusting Steve to not be making things up despite how little interaction they've had) before kicking up a dangerous spray of gravel as he guns the Beemer's engine.

They make it in seventeen minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I didn't get around to saying so first chapter: updates will be once a month :)


	3. Light Reveals This Burning Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim didn't sign up to be a father-figure and yet...suddenly he's jumped from one adopted child to an entire gaggle. If people start calling him Mother Goose, the Mind Flay-whatever won't need to worry about racking up a body count. Jim will have killed everyone already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY I FINISHED THE CHAPTER!!!  
> UGH I LOVE HOPPER BUT HIS CHAPTER!!!
> 
> Anywho~ Got a promotion at work so I've been busy with that until my dad and baby bro tested positive so I self-quarentined. I personally tested negative so I'm going back to work tomorrow! Yay! 
> 
> I HAVE BEEN SOOOO BORED OMG BUUUUT I did get this chapter finished in this time so a good thing came of this! 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think!  
> Sending love and health your way~

Half your life you struggle  
Half your life you fly  
Half your life makin' trouble  
Half your life makin' it right  
One day I'm the exception  
Most days I'm just like most  
Some days I'm headed in the right direction  
And some days I ain't even close

I'm a little bit steady but still little bit rollin' stone  
I'm a little bit heaven but still a little bit flesh-and-bone  
Little found, little don't-know-where-I-am  
I'm a little bit holy water but still a little bit burning man  
Burning man yeah

I always loved the highway  
I just don't run it as fast  
I still go wherever the wind blows me  
But I always find my way back  
I still don't get it right sometimes  
I just don't get it as wrong  
I still go a little bit crazy sometimes  
Yeah, but now I don't stay near as long

I'm a little bit steady but still little bit rollin' stone  
I'm a little bit heaven but still a little bit flesh-and-bone  
Little found, little don't-know-where-I-am  
I'm a little bit holy water but still a little bit burning man  
Burning man  
Still just a burn, burn, burning man  
Just a burning man, uh

Maybe I'll go to the desert  
Find myself in the Joshua Tree  
If we pass in the night then just hand me a light  
And tell me you burned just like me

I'm a little bit steady but still little bit rollin' stone  
I'm a little bit heaven but still a little bit flesh-and-bone  
Little found, little don't-know-where-I-am  
I'm a little bit holy water but still a little bit burning man  
Burning man  
Still just a burn, burn, burning man  
Just a burning man

Uh uh  
Burning man

_**CHAPTER THREE:** _

_**Light Reveals This Burning Man** _

_August 15, 1984_

_ **RING RING** _

_ **RING RING** _

_ **RING RI-** _

“ _Chief Hopper speaking.”_

“ _...Hey, Jimmy.”_

“ _Dave?! What in the name of sanity has got you calling this late?”_

“ _Got an update for you.”_

“ _....Shit. Okay, lay it on me.”_

“ _Bench trial with acquittal ruling.”_

“ _ **BULLSHIT!** It's a clear case of a triple homicide and attempted murder! How did that get bench trialed?!”_

“ _I didn't find this out until later because I was just as incised as you are, but the judge overseeing everything, his son served with Hargrove.”_

“ _Then can't you appeal it?! That's a clear biased ruling!”_

“ _Not without the kid agreeing to testify against his old man.”_

“ _Well, have you asked?! The girl was his best friend and carrying his kid, surely he'd be gung-ho to get justice for them!”_

“ _Would if I could, but the whole family lit out of Santa Barbara almost as soon as the judge finished passing the verdict. It's out of my jurisdiction now.”_

“ _Shiiiiiit....shit, shit, shit! Damnit!”_

“ _I know, Jimmy. I hate that the slimy bastard slipped from my fingers as well. But there is nothing I can do with only circumstantial evidence. We've got to catch him red-handed...”_

“ _But catching him like that may mean....”_

“ _The kid getting hurt.”_

“ _Likely killed.”_

“ _...yes.”_

“ _Damn....Any idea where the rat scurried off too?”_

“ _Unfortunately, no. I just wanted to give you a heads up to be on the look out.”_

“ _What makes you think that the odds of him coming to my neck of the woods is higher?”_

“ _Because God is a deity of justice and if there is anyone in this world I can think of to be an instrument of justice, it's you. Also, God has a wicked sense of humor.”_

“ _....If that helps you sleep at night.”_

“ _It does, thanks for acknowledging!”_

“ _Dave, anyone point out how insane you are?”_

“ _Frequently.”_

“ _Alright, your mental status aside, any descriptive factors or names I can keep an eye out for?”_

“ _Second wife's name is Susan, with a thirteen year old daughter from her previous marriage. Hargrove hasn't adopted the girl yet as far as I am aware, so the daughter is still going by Mayfield.”_

“ _First name?”_

“ _Maxine. Red head, lots of freckles, and judging by the impression I get from her picture, just as much a spitfire as the stereotype. Also must have gotten her looks from her dad because her mother is kind of plain and mousy looking.”_

“ _You never got to meet them in person?”_

“ _No, Hargrove kept them out of the proceedings.”_

“ _Which isn't suspicious at all.”_

“ _Preaching to the choir, Jimmy.”_

“ _....How'd the kid look?”_

“ _Not gonna lie, he's not holding up well. He healed up from the crash well, but his fire is dying. If he does wind up in your town, Jim..”_

“ _I'll keep an eye out for a fallout. Thanks for the heads up, Dave.”_

“ _No problem. You take care of yourself, Jimmy.”_

“ _Same to you.”_

November 3, 1984

It's after Jim has laid Will's limp body down on the couch, after he's made sure Joyce is safely ensconced in her bedroom where she can cry in peace, after he's made a quick headcount and come up with one extra head than last year, that he finally acknowledges the bright red spot dancing in his peripheral vision.

“So, who are you then?” Jim has a pretty good guess already; the young girl looking every bit as he imagined her based on David's words.

Locks the color of an autumn sunset.

Freckles liberally sprinkled across California tanned skin.

Tomboyish don't-give-a-damn attitude trying so desperately to cover her insecurities.

Icy blue eyes he's seen before, lighter than the boy's looking back at him from his memories and almost every bit as intense.

“I'm Max.” She's wary of Jim, but not because he's a man. Not because he's an adult. That's good. That's....

Very good.

Jim hums, knows he's not giving off friendly vibes, but she's not buckling. Her brother's fire is strong in her, even if she might not realize what she's subconsciously internalized.

“Short for Maxine, I'm guessing.” A stated fact. Jim would laugh at the various dumbfounded looks he was receiving from the kids, if he wasn't so flippin' exhausted from life, from otherworldly bull-crap, from being strong for everyone around him.

All Jim Hopper wanted to be doing right this moment is sitting in front of their tiny television watching Jeopardy with Jane, his daughter's body curled safe and warm against his side. Not Child-Wrangling suicidal thirteen year-olds, head slapping God-playing government scientists, grounding almost-adults for being bullheaded blabber mouthed idiots, and somehow keep his best friend (and secret crush) from shattering into irreparable dust.

Then Steve Harrington passes by Max from behind and she flinches back, eyes wide as they track the teen. Jim's heart breaks.

 _Ah, Kid...I should have brought you with me years ago._ _I never should have left you with that bastard._

Exhaling harshly, Jim pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off his rising headache. Max had turned her attention back to him, relaxing once more but never turning completely from Steve.

“How'd you know my name?” Jim snorts. Really, she's an adorable kitten trying to be a tiger, imitating the deep rumbling growls of her elder. If Jim was a bit more touchy-feely kind of guy, he'd probably do something stupid like ruffle her hair or pull her into a hug or any number of mushy feeling crap.

“I'll explain later. I need to call some people, but I do have one question for ya.” Max crosses her arms, a skeptical wariness overpowering her aggravated pout at not having her question answered.

“Fine. What do you wanna ask?”

“Your brother....he's not settling well from the move, is he?” Jim knew she would not be expecting a total stranger to know she had a brother or to even be asking about him. Which made his question not really a question for Jim, but a puzzle for Max. And he prayed it got her thinking and not simply reacting.

Max took a full step back from Jim, hissing like a steamed tea kettle.

“How'd you know about Billy?!” She's scared, but instead of going meek like Jim assumes would be her mother's reaction, Max lashes out, like her brother, like a cornered cat unsheathing her claws in preparation for a self-defense kill. Jim is given no time to respond either, not that he's entirely sure he would have. The explanation would have taken too long and they don't have near enough time to get what they need done tonight anyway. “Oh, wait, you've probably arrested him already and this is just you trying to confirm that the California kids are related. I don't know why you care though. Billy's an asshole. And he won't appreciate some small town pig sniffing where he's not wanted.”

Okay...that almost hurt Jim's feelings. Eyebrow cocking in skeptical disbelief at the verbal vomit, Jim smirked.

“Thanks for confirming your brother is alive and here in town.” Jim flashes his teeth in his fakest smile, flippantly waving off the mentally backtracking little redhead, and begins to make his way to Joyce's phone.

Billy Hargrove is alive.

Billy Hargrove is in Jim's town.

Neil Hargrove has signed his own arrest warrant (if not his own death certificate, depending on how generous a mood Jim finds himself in.) and Jim is now eagerly awaiting the bastard's next screw-up.

~~~~~~~~~

November 4, 1984

Sometimes Jim Hopper wonders what his life would have been like had he not left Eggos in the Hunter Box. If scientists actually understood they were not, in fact, God and therefore should not meddle with biology outside their grasp. Would he have died by this time due to overdose? Would his liver have finally given out on him? Bob would certainly still be alive and Joyce wouldn't be looking at him with eyes screaming for retribution, for rest, for an **end** of some kind. These kids wouldn't be watching him with foolish, suicidal, determination as they proposed plans which would get them all killed if their particular brand of insane luck ran out. He certainly wouldn't be close to tearing his damn hair out knowing he had to let a little girl go up against literal monsters. Jim is by no means happy with this tidbit of his life, but Jane is honestly their only hope when it comes to Hawkins Lab and everything related to the Upside-Down, as much as it tears his heart to ribbons. Like he's failing Sarah all over again.

As Jim brushes a shower damp curl away from Jane's face, watches with paternal pride as the worried and pained furrow between her brows melts away under the gentle ministration, he wonders if he's going to be enough protection for these kids.

If he's going to be strong enough to be a guiding father-figure they can rely on.

Heaven knows all of them need a decent father.

~~~~~~~~

Apparently, Heaven decided Jim needed to step into his role of Group Father sooner rather than the later he had been expecting.

Two minutes. Jim couldn't get two minutes to rest and appreciate the fact everyone is miraculously alive and not being swarmed by extra-dimensional monsters hell-bent on devouring the planet. Nope, instead he has to listen to a group of barely teens describe their adventure doing exactly what he had expressly forbidden them from doing. All the while looking pleased as punch with themselves.

Okay, mainly Michael Wheeler looked like he had become some damn superhero, patting himself on the back for a job well done. The other three at least appeared mildly chagrin about their help in the shenanigans. And Jim doesn't even want to touch whatever has the Harrington kid worked up and worked over as he is. Though, Jim's got a pretty good idea as he observes Nancy Wheeler scolding her brother about being reckless, like she has a leg to stand on. For a moment, Jim contemplates letting her get the verbal vomit she's spewing out, directed as it is at her own sibling. Except, she swings her spoken attacks at Steve Harrington, lighting into him like he hadn't been doing _her_ job of keeping an eye at the younger Wheeler kid.

Jim had heard enough.

“You are **all** grounded.” Jim growled, and oh for his Academy buddies to see how well he was putting their nickname for him to good use. Jim “Grizzly” Hopper indeed!

“You can't do that!” Mike squawked, his weaselly face twisted into indignant teenage fury. Just because the kid made Jane happy did not mean Jim liked him. He didn't. Jim knew how to read people, it's part of his damn job description, and yes, while the kid still had some maturing to do, Jim wasn't entirely sold on the kid ever growing into son-in-law material. The Henderson kid, however....maybe. Jane didn't needed someone to coddle her and try to force her into a box (Jim only tried to enforce her in staying inside the cabin because he didn't have a guarantee for Jane's safety then) like Jim had observed in the brief period of interaction between Jane and Mike. No, Jane would stagnate under the control of someone like Mike. She'd grow to resent him and Jim did not want his little girl to be unhappy in her marriage. Not that Jane was ever going to marry. No one was good enough for Jane in Jim's Very Important Opinion.

“And why can't I?” What inane argument is the-the **puppy** going to throw at him?

“For one, you aren't our parents! And for another, you should be thanking us, if not giving us a medal for helping save the whole damn planet. AGAIN!”

Jim barked his humor, though his laugh could only be considered humorous in a tangentially parallel universe.

“Thank you? Reward you? For disobeying orders and trying your damnedest to get yourselves killed?” Jim bent down, placing his nose inches from Michael Wheeler's, and absolutely glorifying in the way the kid leaned back in fear. “I am the damn **Chief of Police**. I can and will ground you for stupidity, including locking you in a cell.” Jim pointed a finger at Nancy, not once breaking eye contact with the slowly, reluctantly submitting younger Wheeler. “You brats got a metric _shit_ -ton of luck but that ain't gonna last forever. And you, Sweetheart, better count every – last – ONE of those lucky stars I don't arrest you and Jonathan – who should have known **better** and let his head, not his dick talk you both out of becoming traitors to the US Government – because the _only_ reason I don't is Joyce does NOT need to be bailing her eldest out of jail on top of having lost her boyfriend and rescuing her youngest in the span of hours.”

A drum beat of silence, Jim waiting with every scrap of patience he's accumulated throughout his life. Mike's eyes darted to his sister hoping for support. Jim saw the moment the younger sibling registered his older sister's acquiescence to Jim's threat. Resentment flared, betrayal syrup thick and poisonous in the teen's dark eyes. Jim wasn't their father, wasn't their mother, wasn't in any way a parental figure in the Wheeler children's life. He is an authority figure but not one capable of stepping in and trying to correct this car wreck of a relationship. He CAN NOT help, doesn't have the time to do so. He's got a drugged teen to track down and get home safely beside his younger sister. Hopefully, he'll also see something which would warrant an arrest.

Please God, let him witness something incriminating!

“Glad we got that cleared up. Now, I'm not heartless. Go visit Will, kid's been through Hell and could use some....friendly faces.” Jim dismissed the youngest generation to regard the older teen – more of a young adult – “Harrington, any chance Billy Hargrove is still at the Byers? I'm going to pick him up and drop him and Maxine off at home. See if I can spin a believable story with their parents.”

If Jim had thought the guilty waves coming from Jonathan Byers had been thick, it was a bare raindrop in the vast ocean flooding the room now.

...No...

Eyes darted from kid to kid, registering each failure for eye contact, the harsh red puffiness of Maxine's eye lids, Dustin twisting his ball-cap in his hands, Lucas shuffling closer to the only red head in the room but not touching, before resting on Steve. Steve, who slowly slid down the hospital wall and buried his face in his knees, hands carving into his scalp.

No...no, no, God above... **please no...**

“Harrington....Steve. Where is Billy Hargrove?”

Brown eyes peaked out from disheveled cocoa hair, water pooling thick before cascading down bandaged cheeks. The guilt, the despair oozing from the boy; Jim doesn't need Steve to confirm verbally what his actions are clearly broadcasting.

Billy Hargrove is gone.

Not to another state. Not whisked away in the night by his abusive, murderous asshole of a sperm donor.

No, Billy left the pains of mortal life behind and all Jim can rightfully pray for is the too young teen is finally reunited with his mama. Jim has no right to beg for forgiveness. Refuses to give himself that right.

“I-I...don't... I tried, tried to get him-him out, Chief.” Steve is breaking apart, so clearly suffering from seeing a peer die in front of him. Barbara Holland, God rest her soul, may have died in his pool, but Jim is confident Harrington didn't see her demise. Now, seeing or not seeing never stops someone who feels guilty all the same from imagining what the last moments might have been. Jim can see these effects in Steve, has watched dark bags grow under tired brown eyes, has patrolled past the Harrington Residence at ass-o-clock in the mornings to see every single light on with no sign of one of those “Teen Ragers” parties Jim knew Harrington has thrown in the past (before the Upside-Down and death and nightmares and and and), has even given the teen pointers on shooting when he asked out of the blue.

Steve's eyes are near black under the burdens placed on shoulders too young as he locks Jim into a haunted stare of shared nightmares.

“He's gone, Chief....Billy....Billy's gone!”

There's a void swallowing Jim whole, pulsating webs and slimy membranes covering his body and dragging him down into an ashen hell. Sarah. Jane. Lucy Hargrove. Dawnia Shephardson. Bob. Barbara Holland. Bill- **Billy Hargrove**. Everyone Jim has ever failed....he can feel their hands, skeletal, rotting, sharp and grabbing and stabbing....tearing him to pieces....burying him in his failures....

Jim doesn't feel his knees hitting the laminated flooring, barely registers the yelps of the kids, hardly feels Steve Harrington's mud crusted jacket under his fingers. All Jim cares about, all he can **force** himself to care for at this moment, is the trembling teen sobbing silently into his shoulder.

“ _ **Fuck,**_ Kid! It's not your fault. Never your fault!” Jim closed his eyes, trying ( _failing_ ) to force back the burning behind his eyes. Had anyone told the teen Barbara's death wasn't his fault? Or had they buried their heads in the sand, tried to ignore the suffering happening even a year after? ( _He had. They had. God help them all...)_ Jim squeezed the trembling body in his arms tighter. “It – it ain't your fault, Kid.”

Ice eyes stare up at Jim from sun tanned skin, bruised and dirty as the face may be. A wildfire of impotent hate and tempestuous grief swirl, lashing out harsher than a summer hurricane.

Jim bit his cheek, swallowing down the poisonous copper flood.

_It ain't your fault either, Kiddo. It's mine._

_I should have protected all of you better._

_**I'm sorry.** _

**I'm so fucking sorry!**

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Engine rumbling through the seats, Jim appreciates in some distant part of his psyche the silence permeating the cab of his work truck. Every few minutes he would chance a glance at the small red head sitting in his passenger seat, each time met with her staring at the passing landscape. Neither spoke. Neither knew what to say, so Jim believed. So he wanted to believe. However, Maxine is also every inch as stubborn as her step brother. Any moment now, the silence would be broken and Jim would have to answer.

He owed her an explanation.

Owed her brother someone else to remember him and his sacrifices.

“How **do** you know my-my brother?”

_Called it._

Jim waited until his truck slowed for a Stop sign, threw the parking brake, flipped on his hazards, and turned to face his next mountain.

“What do you know about Billy and his father, before Neil married your mother? What do you know about Billy Hargrove's mother?”

Nose scrunching, Maxine regarded Jim harshly. He knew she was trying to be intimidating, but honestly, she was about as scary as wet kitten. It was taking everything in Jim not to laugh in her face. Eventually, Maxine sighed, setting her elbow on the door and resting her head on her fist.

“Not much. Billy never talked about her and Neil only mentions her when he is, like, seriously drunk. And never with the kindest descriptions. Usually he calls her a bitch, traitorous whore, deserving of everything she got for saddling him with a weak faggot son.” Her expression soured, clearly disliking even repeating what her step-father spoke. “Billy hated listening to Neil whenever he got like that, but he never really spoke out either.”

“How did you know Billy was against Neil's opinion?” Jim waved around a honking car, not even needing to look to know it was Old Man Merrill. The man's engine was sputtering on it's last two cylinders.

Fiddling with a lock of auburn orange hair, Maxine kept silent for a long moment. Jim waited. The Hargrove-Mayfield parents had been waiting all night, another half-hour to hour wouldn't kill them. Unfortunately.

“Billy....Billy'd get real tense and he wouldn't respond to anything. Just, sort of, stare, but like through you, ya know?”

“Mm, yeah. I had buddies who went through some real shit and would get that kind of stare. It's frightening, huh.” Jim scrubbed a hand down his face before shaking out a cigarette. A few drags had the nicotine swirling pleasantly through his system. It's not like getting black out drunk (which is what he wants right now) but it will certainly make this talk...easier.

“Lucy Hargrove was found in her car at the bottom of DeLong Creek, a tributary branching off of Eagle Creek Reservoir, nearly six months _after_ her death. I was assigned to investigate her case and notify her family. I can still see the resigned acceptance in her kid's eyes. He knew, somehow he knew his mom had been taken from him. He just needed someone to confirm. It broke my heart, looking at this kid, younger than you are now, being told by some stranger his mom is never coming home again.” Growling, teeth grinding the cigarette filter into pulp, Jim glared at the world outside his windshield. “Neil is a Grade-A bastard and you would do well to follow your brother's footsteps in regards to interacting with the man.” Pointing a finger at her, Jim locked eyes with his young passenger. “Don't give that man any reason to turn his hatred on you. Whatever rules Billy gave you, follow them to the letter, understand?”

Maxine blinked, dumbfounded in the face of Jim's unwavering resolve.

“But...why?! Billy told me to stay away from my friends, to stay away from Lucas! I can't! I won't! Not after...” _losing Billy._

Jim exhaled, rubbing the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, before speaking. There is no beating around this thorn bush. No sugar coating.

“At least that confirms our suspicions. You especially need to stay away from Sinclaire. If you don't,” Jim dropped his voice, making sure she understood exactly how severe the situation is, “you will get him, his family and more than likely yourself, **killed**.”

“.... _ **WHAT?!**_ ”

~~~~~

Maxine had been in denial, wanting more than anything to believe her mother wouldn't be so bad a judge of character as to endanger her daughter's life. Eventually, under the mountain of evidence and pointed questions, she agreed reluctantly to stay away from the Party outside of school. As Jim watched her walk into her frantic mother's embrace (and David had been right, Susan Mayfield was as mousy and forgettable as her daughter and step-son were fiery and bright), he stuffed every bit of rage, of hopelessness, of despair as he could deep within himself. Just looking at Neil Hargrove, at the man's two-timing face as he expressed his worry to his step-daughter and yet looked so void in his fury as he waited for another figure to leave the squad truck – one which would never come and maybe this is a blessing in disguise – had Jim trembling with the effort of not shooting the disgusting bastard between the eyes.

Hands clenching and loosening on the steering wheel, Jim forced himself to breathe, to ignore every fantasy of tossing Neil Hargrove into a nest of Demo-dogs, of wrapping his hands around that murderous asshole's neck, and thirty other fantasies Jim has dreamed of since he first laid eyes on the Hargrove Patriarch.

_No! Bad Jim. Must not kill assholes without the proper paperwork....soon though, yeeeeeessss soon!_

If Jim flashed Neil a grin, sharp and full of teeth, a silent promise to devour him should he ever step out of line like he had in California....

Well, that was no one's business but Jim's.

As it is, Jim has a story to weave and a family to inform.

As his door clicks open, the radio crackles to life, Flo's voice filling the silence.

_ ::Chief? Come in, Chief.:: _

Jim groans, not wanting to deal with any more disasters for the rest of the week, _**at least**_ , but unable to just leave his secretary hanging either. Retrieving the radio receiver in a practiced motion, Jim rested his forehead on his steering wheel and pressed the button.

“What is it, Flo?”

_ ::Chief, just got a call from the Harrington kid.:: _

Jim snapped upright, concern flooding his system with adrenaline. Steve should have been passed out in his bed right now, giving his body time to rest and recover while his exhaustion is deep enough to bypass any nightmares. What could possibly be wrong enough to keep the kid awake and calling the police?!

Oh, Jim is not liking where his imagination is answering his question.

“What did he say?! Exact words, Flo!”

_ ::Hold your horses, Chief. I've got it written down right here. He says to meet him at the Byers driveway in fifteen minutes, its a matter of life and death, and to not say anything to the Hargrove family. What's going on, Hopper? He sounded wrecked but oddly happy? If he's high or drunk and this is a crank call, you better throw him in a cell this time!:: _

Jim stared out the windshield, seeing but not registering Maxine's puzzled expression. _Why would Steve want me to meet him at the Byers? And why mention the Hargrove's specifically? Life and death...?_

The answer hit Jim like a Peterbuilt going fifty on a highway.

“Thanks for passing on the message, Flo! Let Harrington know I'll meet him there.” Switching the radio off, Jim slammed his door shut, keyed the engine into a ferocious roar, and peeled out of the Hargrove driveway like hellfire was nipping at his wheels. Rubber bit into asphalt, burning, leaving tire tracks and noxious fumes in his wake.

He needed to be at the Byers ten minutes ago!

~~~

Harrington barely slowed enough for Jim to see the kid's waving arm before his Beamer shot forward, racing further towards the outskirts of Hawkins. Under normal circumstances Jim would be pulling the brat over for reckless driving but.....

Eh, rules were meant to be broken right?

And, really, what was the point of being the Chief of Police if one couldn't cut loose once in a while.

Grin bordering on feral, Jim floored the gas pedal, racing after the teenager's dust.

~~~

Years have passed since Jim had been out this far. As in, he remembers being Steve's age, racing down these back roads with Joyce in the passenger seat, rocking to the King himself, getting into such stupid shit.

Damn...has it really been that long? Jim groaned, suddenly feeling every second of his age. There hadn't been much back then, a few abandoned barns and decrepit ranch houses slowly withering under Time's passage. Perfect for teenage trysts. Ivy choking shattered windows, wood gun silver and smoke black under pearly moonbeams, the soft rustle of sun dried grass in the night wind. Gothic danger screaming of murder and dark creatures in every corner.

Joyce had loved every single moment of their times exploring these forgotten places.

Jim had loved every moment with Joyce.

Shaking his head cleared his...pesky memories, Jim focused on the present, on Steve's tail lights flying in front of him. Familiar trees passed in blurs, bigger, gnarlier than the last time he had seen them, but untouched by the nightmares Jim had been chasing recently. It brought peace, however minimal, to see one piece of his world hasn't changed. Honestly, there were days Jim wanted to hit pause on the world and wait for his brain to assimilate all the changes he found himself tossed into. Really, he is not as young as he used to be. There should be a limit to the nonsense a guy should be put through!

Speaking of....just how far was wherever Steve wanted to take him?

Jim found the answer a few minutes later. Steve drifted his Beamer through another corner (and where did the kid learn how to drive that intensely?!) and Jim entered paradise.

Jim slammed his breaks and stared in stupefied awe.

The structure itself was a single story ranch house with a large wrap around porch, hanging bench swing, and picturesque bay window. Buttercream yellow colored the horizontal wood sides beneath slate gray roof tiles. Cocoa brown trimmed the windows and the porch roof pillars, blending nicely with the wrought iron fence framing the porch itself. Large river stones created steps to the porch and rosewood door. Several yards away and to the right of the main house, a red barn stood proud beneath the late morning sun.

Mandarin honeysuckle and blue moon wisteria wrapped around the porch pillars while common ivy added splashes of vibrant green as it crept up buttercream walls. River stone planters held velvet queen sunflowers and star jasmine. Hummingbirds, sparrows, blue birds, buzzing bumble bees, and more butterflies than Jim has ever seen flitter and flock around garden beds of marigolds, daisies, lavender, and roses. Moss grew a vivid emerald carpet beneath Jim's boots as he stepped from his truck into this Spring Utopia.

November always brought a snapping chill in its wake and when Jim had walked out of the hospital this morning had been no different. Yet here...in this hidden fairy garden...Jim feels the perfect warmth of spring bordering summer, smells the gentle floral perfume wafting through a clean breeze. Jim melts, his muscles sagging like butter under heat, tension he had gotten used to feeling releasing their claws from his muscles.

“Holy shit, Kid... **what IS this place?!** ”

Steve laughed, soft and gentler than Jim has ever seen the kid.

“It's pretty amazing, yeah? This is my friend's place. And I still haven't figured out her secret yet either so don't ask.” As a yellow swallowtail fluttered past, Steve held a finger out, allowing the insect a place to rest for a moment. “I've only been here a handful of times but...I don't know, there's just....something about this place. I never feel alone when I'm here. Like I can drop all my masks and just...” – a whisper of breath, more seen than heard – “be myself. Whoever the hell that is.”

_Jon, Cordelia, what have you done to this boy?!_

Teeth ground together as Jim reached out, to pat the kid on his shoulder or to draw him into a desperately needed hug, Jim didn't know. The bubble of peace which had enveloped the two men the moment they exited their cars popped with a single piercing sound.

A scream ripped from the house, shattering the peaceful clearing and charging through Jim like a zap of electricity.

Steve took off for the front door, Jim a step behind. A life still hung on the line. Fixing the mistakes of two old friends could wait.

~~~

Inside, the ranch house appeared just as bewitching with bundles of drying herbs hanging from the windows alongside home made wind chimes, colored glass casting rainbows on the walls while bells, seashells, and feathers rustled and rang with each breeze. Everything was painted in warm colors and though the furniture is clearly second hand, the whole aesthetic lent to a charming, welcoming atmosphere.

Jim registered all he saw in a distant part of his mind, knowing in better circumstances he would have enjoyed sitting for a cup of coffee. However, in this moment, all he can focus on is the drying grey mud and the bright crimson trail leading further inside, the screams which have only grown stronger with proximity.

Then Steve is running through a door and Jim is almost running into Steve and he would have yelled at the kid about stopping suddenly in front of people however....

However....

Terror rips through Jim like Demodogs through flesh.

Auburn waves falling from a ponytail in a frenzied mess, knees digging into heaving shoulders, hands gripping biceps bulging from the strength of arms thrashing, mud crusted blond curls barely seen from their place resting in her lap, a young woman not much younger than Steve glances up from where she is pinning a delirious Billy Hargrove down single-handedly.

Ocean eyes watering, the young woman Jim can only assume is Steve's friend, gazed at the new arrivals in the same complicated mix of relief, stress, and grief Joyce had held hours prior. Jim hated the look then and he hates it now, especially on someone so young.

“Stevie! Help me, please...” she sits up slightly, revealing what had been hidden by the bent form of her body. “I-I can't get it out of him without him thrashing and it's-it's-it's **poisoning him!** ”

Protruding four or so inches from Billy's right side is a branch of uncomfortable familiarity to Jim. Oil black and faintly pulsating, pumping poison with each pulse, Jim can feel the evil within from where he stands in the doorway. For a moment, Jim is back in pitch blackness and toxic dandelion fluff, chocking, fingers scrambling for any weapon amidst skeletons and half-rotted remains.

Then Steve staggers once before collapsing to his knees, Jim himself falling limp against the bathroom counter. There have been murders more horrific in Jim's career on the Police Force, but the ones that always hit hardest are the ones Jim had been emotionally invested in. Most often when kids were involved. Nothing raises Jim's ire -or gorge- quicker than seeing young lives cut before they had a chance to live.

Billy Hargrove isn't dead yet, but watching the girl pinning him, how her toes slip in the ever growing blood puddle, the wet squelch from a rug so soaked the original color is lost beneath black crimson, Jim is enraged all the more by those government assholes at Hawkins Lab. Humans are not God, are never meant to be God, and it pisses Jim off seeing the results of men who try. Did the World Wars mean _**nothing**_?!

The branch gives a particularly hard throb, twitching in the wound and Billy arches, broken screams rattling from deep inside the boy. Hard to see at first, but Billy's thrashing has also served the duel purpose of releasing some of the dried mud from his skin. Jim is fixated, caught in this never ending nightmare, left helpless as Upside-Down toxin spreads visibly through Billy's veins. A spiderweb of creeping onyx crawling up an ill-pale neck, branching like the River Styx through the Underworld.

The girl curls over Billy once more, putting her whole weight into pinning his upper body down, attempting with every fiber to prevent his wounds from worsening. Her eyes flash up, pinning Jim just as surely as the boy on her floor. Lips pulling back, teeth grit in strain, she snarls at the frozen men.

“Don't just stand there like a pair of toads! **HELP ME ALREADY!** ”

Jim would like to attribute his sudden sweat outbreak on the heat of the room (in his defense, the temperature had spiked with her anger) and not on an entirely healthy respect for badass women who knew they could and would, in fact, beat his ass into the ground if he angered them enough. He didn't really know this young woman besides her being a friend of Steve's and that she had found Billy Hargrove alive. But....

She found _Billy_.

Steve is _relaxed._

**_And that is good enough for Jim._ **

Well, good enough to trust her for now.

~~~~

Jim shrugs out of his heavy jacket and rolls up his sleeve. Nudging the still frozen Steve with his knee, Jim crouches on the right side, already examining the spear infesting Billy's body closer.

“Chief Jim Hopper. Where did you find Billy?” Maybe not the most important question to be asking but if there are more vines from the tunnels out in the Hawkin's forests, Jim needs to know a general location to start a controlled burn. He is NOT about to have these rotten.... **weeds** chocking out his community again. Hell no!

She grunted, increasing her pressure as Billy's struggles renewed, for a moment unable to answer.

“Rebekah Shore – **umph! –** Just past Poseidon's – **urk! –** “ Billy almost completely unseated her, only Steve's quick reaction in pinning the teenager's legs down stopped her from flying head first into the side of the tub. Blood sprayed as Billy choked, but he did begin to quiet. “ **huff –** just past Poseidon's Trident. It's about...three miles North of here?” The girl, Shore, puffed out a breath, trying to remove hair from her eyes without using her hands. Everything about her hung limp, from her sweat and blood dampened shirt to the slump of her head and shoulders. Yet, still a spark of fiery determination shimmered in blue-gold irises. “Now how can we stop him from dying on my bathroom floor? Steve said you could help, so _**help**_ **,** _Government_.”

Okay, he's going to address her hostility toward government employed individuals later.

Jim reached back towards his jacket, rummaging in a pocket before bringing out thick work gloves and his pocket knife. He was not about to touch this thing with his bare hands. Sufficiently protected, Jim began to carefully cut away the ruined fabric of Billy's button-down. Pleading whimpers of no real significant volume escaped from Billy in short bursts whenever the fabric tugged on clotted blood. Moving the branch even a few centimeters to unwind caught threads though caused the unconscious boy to scream, if Jim could call the scratchy, broken shriek of whistling wind a scream. Removing the branch was not going to be a picnic. Steve had been suspiciously silent the entire time, but a swift glance to Jim's left revealed why.

Steve, still clearly suffering the effects of his beating, concussion, and the misadventure in the tunnels, had his eyes focused on the dirty jean clad legs under his hands. Sweat trickled down grey tinted skin and normally “perfect” hair hung in greasy strands. For all the focus Steve was putting into his task, Jim also noticed how many times the teen blinked, as if his vision kept wavering. If Jim didn't know trying to convince Steve to go take a nap would be a lost cause, he would have had the kid tucked in a bed ten minutes ago.

“Removing the branch looks like it's gonna be...relatively simple.” Jim paused, because the Upside-Down had proven time and again to never be anything simple in dealing. Taking a moment to figure out how to not-reveal NDA protected government secrets, Jim wet a washcloth to start cleaning some of the blood from around Billy's stab wound.

“Sensing a 'but' there, _Government_.” Shore took advantage of a calmer Billy, carefully picking twigs and leaves from his matted curls. Her eyes, however, never left Jim.

He chuckled. Girl had a shit-ton of gumption.

“Nothing gets past ya, huh?” a gust of breath; Jim feels every fiber his age. “Removing the branch in normal circumstances would be easy. This, is not a normal branch from a tree. Its been poisoned and, unfortunately based on the amount of pain Billy suffers from barely touching it, possibly even a little...” This will be where he loses her because no sane human believes these things without solid proof. But Jim's words are all he has; while the branch's appearance may seem odd, the amount of pain could be explained away as a barbed end getting caught and regular crude oil could explain the appearance as well as the visible spread of poison.“...sentient.” Alright, the chips are in, time to see if Jim's hand will fold or win him the pot.

Jim expected denial, skepticism, general disbelief.

He did not expect being regarded as an absolute idiot.

“ _I_ already tried to remove that piece of-of **space junk!** He started screaming like I was killing him and thrashing around which is how I ended up here.I need to know what we can do to stop the poison and I need extra hands to pull it out. What I don't need is a reiteration of what I already know!” Shore is angry, near to tears, and yet Jim can't find it in himself to be offended. She's obviously concerned and Jim is just a convenient target. Is it sad he's getting used to females using him as a punching bag?

Yeeee-ah let's not answer that question.

“Addressing how well you are taking the whole sentient vegetation later, so far the only thing we've discovered really works is heat.” Jim isn't sure how to interpret Shore's expression beyond equal parts consternation and reluctant acceptance. And there isn't enough time for him to properly break it down either. Jim has managed to clear away most of the dried blood, mud, and carefully picked out any debris he could by this point. It's worse than Jim feared. The flesh around the initial stab was already becoming necrotic, the poison spreading outwards like a thick wildfire. Jim has no idea what will happen to Billy if the Upside-Down poison takes over completely. Will had been possessed because of the connection through the open Rift. With the Rift closed, everything connected to the Upside-Down was supposed to have died. Yet here Billy is, muscles twitching, body spasms increasing as another pulse sends him screaming with whatever vocal chords the kid had left.

Is Jim _ever_ going to know what to do right off the bat?

“Heat, huh?” It's quiet, a soft whisper of a sentence spoken more to herself than for acknowledgment. He still heard her even as he concentrated on keeping Billy from twisting his torso and causing more damage.

“Yep. Do you have a fireplace or gas stove we can use? I don't want to chance moving him. Honestly don't think he'd make the drive by this point.” Jim truly believed Billy would die in the transition. It's already a miracle the kid had held on for this long.

“Don't need those.”

Jim's head snapped to her, incredulous in the face of her blasé response.

“What?! Uh, yeah we kind of do, Becky!” _Way to take the words right out of his mouth, Kid._

Shore shuffles out from under Billy, laying his head down gently before moving over to the opposite side of Billy, across from Jim. She twists backwards, pulling the tub stopper and cranking the knobs. Water gushes in a dull roar, splashing against the tub sides.

“We won't need a fireplace or any of it.” She settles Billy's left arm in the crook of her knees, effectively pinning it as she sat on her heels. Awkward under normal circumstances but effective all the same. Then, she began to take off her shirt.

“Whoah, whoah!”

“Hey! BECKY WHAT THE HELL?!”

Curious blue-gold eyes blink at flustered men like butter couldn't melt in her mouth. “What? The less clothes burned, the better on my budget.” Thankfully for Jim's old heart and Steve's blood pressure, Shore was wearing a bra under her shirt, a modest one at that. Whenever Flo happens to leave her Sears catalog within reach, during boring business calls where Jim would do literally anything to take his mind off listening to political bullshit, he skims the pages. So Jim has seen some of the latest fashions, which seem to get skimpier with every magazine edition. Still though, Jim wishes he could look at the ceiling like Steve.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, then you can take your shirts off as well. Probably gonna want to anyway in a minute.”

“THAT DOES NOT MAKE ME FEEL BETTER!”

“No, and I would actually really appreciate you putting YOUR shirt back on, Missy!”

A scoff escapes her and Jim is reminded of Jane and every teenager he has ever encountered in his **life**.

“Not my father and I am not bringing up my budget again. Please, trust that I know what I am doing when I say what we will and will not need.” Lapis lazuli held Jim captive. Begging for trust yet bitten too often to open fully herself.

Jim recognizes these eyes.

What else can he do?

“What do you need then?” It's not a full grin, could barely even be classified as a smirk or smile, but the little twitch of her lips is like an angel chorus in her eyes.

“I need you both to hold him down. This is going to take every ounce of concentration.”

Billy groaned, lashes fluttering as his eyes open. It looked like a simple act like opening his eyes physically hurt the kid. And for all it appeared he is waking up, Jim could see the heavy haze clouding ice eyes, giving an eerie pale cast.

“Holy shit, Kiddo! No! Hey hey hey, shh, don't move, don't move.” Jim pressed firmly on Billy's shoulder, catching Steve settling more assuredly on the other teen's legs, as Billy started to move. The pressure keeping him pinned did not appeal to Billy, at all. Frightened whimpers began to intermingle with panting breaths, Jim hissing himself when fresh blood began to trickle past the blond's lips. Curling behind Billy's ear and stretching out around the corner of his lips and eye, the Upside-Down toxin's quick spread acted in place of a gunshot to Jim's chest.

They were losing Billy if they didn't act **now.**

Jim only wished Billy had stayed unconscious. It would have been a mercy the teen desperately needed.

“Hargrove has always been the most stubborn guy at school. Heh, doesn't surprise me one bit that he would want to face this head on.” Steve sounded exhausted (and again Jim is left wondering how he is still standing) but also, oddly awestruck and hesitantly amused. As if, with just the simple act of Billy opening his eyes against all odds, something had been settled in Steve's world once more. “He'll make it through this. _**Billy Hargrove won't fall to some pansy-ass demonic plant.**_ ”

As Jim watched a strange topless girl brush hair from a miraculous boy whom by all rights should have been in a coma while another boy pushed past all his physical limits with the single minded determination of a soldier, he began to let himself hope.

_Let another miracle occur today, please. Just one more..._

Jim braced himself, hooking Billy's right arm beneath his ankles and placing his free hand on Bill's hip. Catching her eyes this time, Jim gave a single nod and a roguish grin.

“Ready to get this shindig on the road, Missy.”

~~

Shore nodded as well, looking to Steve for his own signal. A brief look of worry over Steve's haggard appearance had Jim's grin softening a touch. The girl obviously cared about Steve and if things went well, would probably mother him into bed within ten minutes. Honestly it was almost too bad Jim didn't have a fellow adult to make a bet. Then again, no one takes sucker bets if they're smart.

“Okay, like I said, I need complete concentration.”

“Why?”

A careless little shrug. “It's either complete concentration or I burn all three of you to cinders. Your choice.”

Everything clicked into place. All the little details bugging Jim with their familiarity. Her distaste towards those associated with the government. How far from society a _teenager_ willingly lives. The black smudge on her wrist he had caught glimpses of as she stroked Billy's hair. Her maturity. Those puzzle pieces fit finally.

Jim smiled to himself, glad his daughter wasn't going to be as alone as she feared.

“Brace yourselves.”

For all the warning she gives them, Jim is in no way prepared for how fierce the battle would become.

It starts as a spike in the room's temperature which leaves Jim and Steve soaking in sweat within minutes. Heat waves are visibly rippling from Shore's hands, lifting her hair and creating a complete frizzy mess out of Steve's hair. So far, all Billy has done is tense and groan, trying feebly to shift away from the immense heat. Then she wraps one hand around the branch. Shore hasn't even pulled it from Billy and yet, it is as if Jim has been transported back to old battlefields where the howls of the dying competed with the concussive explosions of artillery fire.

The branch withers and cracks from the heat, writhing in her hand, thrashing open the wound until blood bubbles forth over Billy's chest, spilling down over his skin and flooding the floor. Jim has to put every ounce of strength he has into his hands, forcing Billy to lay still even as his body bucks and squirms with surprising power.

Then she pulls the branch, rips it from it's lodging in a sickening spray of brackish vermilion.

Billy _**howls**_ , two-toned and unearthly.

Jim and Steve never stood a chance.

Legs kicked out too fast to see; Jim only knowing what had happened by the impact Steve's body made against the wall. Then, the world is jumbling in Jim's eyes, his ears are ringing, the back of his head throbbing in time with the blossoming bruises on his hips, shoulders, and lower back. Vaguely, back in Jim's hind-brain, he registered the sound of brushes and bottles scattering in his rough landing on the bathroom counter sink. Pinpricks of warmth spread across his shoulder, flares of pain from his palm like fireworks on his nerves.

Back arching further than any human spine had a right, muscles audibly straining under their own tension, Billy seized. Ragged screams, broken howls, gurgling roars, Jim watched in his own fogged daze as Billy fought against the searing heat above and the toxin within. In a somewhat aggravating turn, Shore alone had not been thrown from Billy. Rather, she had even managed to switch her position, now straddling his hips with one hand planted on his chest and the other holding a literal ball of flame over the open wound.

Observing through the cotton clouding his head, to Jim, Rebekah Shore is an immovable pillar, Joan of Arc leading her vicious crusade. The stench of cooking meat hangs thick in his nostrils as Billy's wound cauterizes under the flame, though it is nearly drowned under the rotten tar stench of the poison as it oozes and sizzles into ashen flakes on the rug. Slow at first, but gaining speed as every tick of the clock brings the temperature that much higher, the fire in her hand hotter and brighter, Billy's skin cleared, the sickening web retreating under the force of its natural enemy.

Eternal moments passed and as suddenly as everything had started...

**It stopped.**


	4. Let the Bugle Sound Out: In Victory Or Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy-Boi is back! And desperately wants a peaceful ten-year nap, thanks. No hallucinations, no monsters, just his head and a pillow, all nice and intimate-like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, my patient loves! A new chapter~ Whoop Whoop! 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!

_Sound the bugle now  
Play it just for me  
As the seasons change  
Remember how I used to be  
Now I can't go on  
I can't even start  
I got nothing left  
Just an empty heart_

_I'm a soldier wounded  
So I must give up the fight  
There's nothing more for me  
Lead me away  
Or leave me lying here_

_Sound the bugle now  
Tell them I don't care  
There's not a road I know  
That leads to anywhere  
Without a light, I fear that I will  
Stumble in the dark  
Lay right down, decide not to go on_

_Then from on high  
Somewhere in the distance  
There's a voice that calls  
Remember who you are  
If you lose yourself  
Your courage soon will follow  
So be strong tonight  
Remember who you are_

_Yeah  
You're a soldier now  
Fighting in a battle  
To be free once more  
Yeah, that's worth fighting for_

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

**Let the Bugle Sound Out: In Victory Or Defeat**

Deep inside the forest surrounding Hawkins, Indiana, a brook burbled quietly in the night-still trees. Since it first wound its way through this forest, the little brook had been a constant source of nourishment for local flora and fauna, it’s crystal clear water having never known the pollution of man. This small stream of water may not be as voluminous as it’s larger river brethren, however, it fulfilled its purpose well through every season, for centuries.

On this particular night, the edges of the brook had begun to harden over with ice, wafer thin and easily breakable for creatures with keratin hoofs. Such as the doe stepping cautiously out from the shadow drenched trees. With every hesitant step, she paused, ears flicking to catch every sound filling the forest. Nostrils flaring for every scent, the doe side-stepped nervously. From her actions, a hunter would be able to tell that something had caught her attention; she just couldn't find the source. Long minutes passed as the graceful mammal swept her surroundings, lingering often on a rocky overhang a few yards to her right. When no predator jumped out with salivating jaws wide, the doe slowly approached her destination: the brook quietly going about its purpose.

A single tap of her hoof shatters the ice build up and the doe drinks deeply. The forest is quietly alive around her, protecting those like her from all but animal related harm. Eternal seconds pass as the doe nourishes her body's need. She daintily shuffles forward an extra step, hooves crunching on hoar frost.

Crackle.

The doe freezes, pinned in place by instinct. The earth rumbles beneath her hooves, small stones clattering off the rock overhang she had been fixated on minutes earlier. Bounding jack-rabbit swift, the doe is long gone from the clearing when the first lightening crack ricochets off the trees.

Crack

Crack-krick

**CRUNCH-fwoosh-BOOM**

Muddied sludge erupted from the new six foot hole in the middle of the overhang as two halves of the boulder which had once resided in the center rocketed twenty feet and cratered into the ground. Once clear waters turned nearly black and quickly overflowed the tiny banks. Clumps of mud and various unidentifiable detritus swirled together, building blockages until the pressure washed everything away again. Several larger objects slid sickeningly from the opening, splashing into the brackish river water and floating away with the current.

The further the water got from the overhang, the slower the current became, depositing debris and creating new banks. Almost a mile from the clearing, the last of the larger lumps finally stopped, the end still in the water swaying gently with the current. Moments passed in quiet stillness, the forest settling from its abrupt interruption.

With a rattling gasp the lump lurched up, spewing mud water and bile as it scrambled clumsily away from the water. A fair distance from the water, hacking dry heaves contracted the violently shivering body into a ball with each raspy breath. For several minutes, the figure struggled to breathe and expel the foreign matter swirling inside.

When only shivers from the cold November air moved its body, the figure groaned weakly before struggling like a newborn foal to its feet. Had there been another human being within the vicinity to see the bi-pedal creature, they may have run screaming into the night. Half rotten leaves, waterlogged and dry sticks pocking out in random directions, river reeds and sickly black vines stuck to the clay like consistency of the mud covering the figure from the top of its head to the thick soled boots on its feet. An eldritch monster brought to life.

Stumbling forward on cold numb legs, using any nearby tree for support, the night air echoed with haunting whisper groans, growing quieter as distance increased until finally, silence fell in the woods.

Billy isn't sure how long he's been walking in the woods. Can't remember what time it had been when he found Max in the freak house or when he finally got to the Entrance of Hell. Knows it had been late but too early for a proper Witching Hour. Knows every **inch** of his body hurts like a bitch, a cold so deep it burns the marrow in his bones.

It's so hard to _**think**_.

Mud has dried and now flakes off with every faltering step he takes. Sticks pocking his skin through his stiff clothes only register as a far away pressure. He can't feel his toes or his fingers, realizes distantly that its a bad sign but also can't force himself to give a shit beyond forcing his legs ever forward.

Billy doesn't even know if he's headed towards Hawkins or further into the woods, closer to his death, to just disappearing forever. Nothing but fodder for forest animals. He's running on instinct, holding onto that with every scrap of stubborn will he can muster. There's a spark of warmth deep in the center of his chest, growing hotter with each step. He has no idea what the spark is or where its leading him, but he's going to trust that its something that will save him from kicking the bucket in this ass-backwards nowhere town.

Nautical dawn had begun lightening the sky when the trees began to thin around Billy, making it harder for him to find the support he desperately needed to keep moving. Vision wavering dangerously now that he can start seeing his surroundings, Billy collapsed against the next tree. Breath puffing in white steams, head splitting open like an egg in a skillet, a choked wail worked its way up his throat.

It's right there!

The end of this nightmare, the edge of the forest.

Freedom, salvation, hope.

Billy can't feel his feet, can't feel his hands. His right knee is a localized blaze of lava in comparison to the rest of him. He hasn't been able to take a full breath since his fight with the Hellhounds, vaguely aware of something shifting below his chest with each movement of his lungs. A squirming, wriggling sensation creeping outwards from that shifting point beneath his ribcage. His vision is all swirls and black holes, a galaxy contained in a crystal bowl.

Billy is splitting apart and. It. **Burns**.

A sob choked him, ripped apart his throat and left copper in his mouth. There was nothing left for him to give.

“ _Did I raise a pussy for a son?!”_ Neil walked out of the mist and raising light, a nightmare specter here to haunt Billy's final moments.

Screw you, Neil. Billy had wanted to scream those three words in his father's face for years and have them be the last words he ever spoke to Neil Hargrove. Now he can feel his body shutting down and he doesn't have the strength to whisper. How his dad found him when Billy didn't even know where he was never even occurred as a question in his mind. Neil _always_ knew where Billy could be located, always knew when to show up for maximum impact.

“ _Aw, is the faggot gonna cry? ARE YOU GOING TO CRY, BOY?!”_

Yes, you asshole, I'm crying. Go fornicate with a cactus and not cry, I freaking DARE you! And the tears were running, twin trails of sun fire on his cheeks. Billy couldn't lift a hand to scrub them away if he wanted too.

“ _Should have rid myself of you when your whore of a mother brought you home. Saved myself the embarrassment and money. Useless piece of shit.”_

From some hidden corner deep in his psyche, Billy found the strength he had been lacking only milliseconds ago. With a ravaged snarl spilling crimson from his lips, Billy forced his body to rise. No one spoke of Lucy Hargrove that way. **NO. ONE.**

Neil smirked victoriously, bloodless lips stretching farther than a human mouth had any right to do so, navy blue veins a spiderweb pattern on corpse white skin.

“ _Gonna fight me, Boy? Gonna show me what kind of man you are?”_

Billy's stiff fingers curled into fists, agonizing pops cracking from the joints. Yeah, he was gonna fight. He was gonna fight and beat Neil's damn face in until he can no longer say anything about Billy's mom.

Breathing as deeply as his ribs would allow, Billy roared at his father. It wasn't even in the same category as the one he had given Steve Harrington, too weak and stuttering from Billy's shredded vocal chords to convey the sheer rage flooding his system. However, despite cutting out and sounding more like Billy had chugged a dozen balloons worth of helium, the roar echoed in the quiet morning and that is all Billy could ask for in this circumstance.

“ _PATHETIC! Just like the bitch. You are no son of mine, useless bastard faggot!”_

Neil roared, a monstrous chittering screech of a sound and Billy threw his body forward, attempting to tackle the bastard to the ground. Neil disappeared as Billy reached him, leaving Billy to sprawl painfully in the golden wheat grass field bordering the forest line. Searing pain stabs through him, ignites his nerves, causing Billy to roll and arch and squirm away from the agony.

Minutes, hours, eternities leave him shaking in the dewy wheat grass, staring in dazed horror at the four inches of black wood impaling his right side. It's a sickening, jagged thing covered in a slimy tar-like substance. He knows better than to remove the intrusion, first aid lessons from California Junior Lifeguard camps clear in his head, stories of bleeding out before ambulances even arrive whispering faintly in his ears. Billy **knows** better. He still tries because every instinct inside is screaming to get it out, get it out, GETITOUT! Hand trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline, Billy grasps what he can, curses the stiffness in his fingers, and weakly tugs.

**FIRE**

**ACID**

**COLD**

Billy has never felt this level of physical pain before. His whole world lit in white agony. This level that leaves him screaming, practically seizing from his muscles contracting too tight, too swiftly. It's every broken bone and bruised welt from Neil, every scrape and concussion from various boyhood escapades, felt all at once and then compounded upon tenfold. He wants to let go, begs his hand to let go of the branch, but it's frozen in place by his own body constricting. The neurons in his brain are sending the wrong signals. He can't think clearly enough to send the right ones.

All he can do: scream.

Time stretches, contracts and contorts into the weirdest configurations until Billy is left not being able to recall a moment before the Pain. This is always how he has been: screaming and strung tight. Billy is Pain and Pain is Billy. Nothing more, nothing less.

A brief second as something inside snaps and his hand falls and the Pain falls alongside.

Wheezing like he had been sucker punched in the solar plexus, Billy lay boneless and sobbed brokenly.

He's splitting apart.

And his mom isn't here to help put him back together. No one is here to tell him where Billy begins and the Pain ends.

In the center of his chest, the burning spark he had followed out of the woods suddenly flares supernova hot and Billy screeches in pain, back arching from the ground, his bones creaking dangerously under the stress. The fire is gone as swiftly as it had come, and as his body finally gives into the blank blackness of unconsciousness, glazed blue eyes stare dully at a slim figure running towards him through darkening fields of gold.

Waves crash on sand and seagulls cry. A woman's bright laughter echoes faintly in Billy's ears.

“Oh, stars. OH STARS! Please don't be dead.” Penny copper color tickles his nose. And the last clear thing Billy sees is the ocean staring at him with worry and fear.

Thunder, one second crystal clear, the next muffled and murky.

_(Is that a voice? Who is talking? A mermaid? Mama's angel?)_

Pain, lungs screaming for oxygen, drawing in fluid.

Salt water is sweeping him away, dragging him beneath storm churned waves.

_(Is that a hand? It's warm...and so...gentle...)_

He can feel the surfboard leash wrapping like a vice around his leg. A harsh tug and he screams, his knee on fire.

His head is pounding, salt burning his nose, his throat, his eyes.

Lava spreading across his side; he's caught in a swarm of Man-of-Wars, their tentacles wrapping agony across his skin, burrowing through his flesh.

He's going to die.

He IS going to DIE.

“ _Billy! Watch out for riptides!”_

_( **“Hargrove! Breathe, man!”)**_

_**(“Don't give up on us now, Kid.”)** _

_**(“Liam. Stay with me. Stay.”)** _

Too late, Mama.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

_Spicy sweet jasmine. Delicate floral rose. Summer warm hay._

_Is he floating in water or on air?_

_Why can't he open his eyes?_

_ Whachoo doin' here, Boo? Ain't time for ya scrawny white trash ass to join the Choir Upstairs. _

_It couldn't be..._

Daw-Dawnia?

_Did he even open his mouth? Every inch feels as if fifty pounds of steel has been sewn to his muscle fibers._

_ Ya got any other Baby Mamas as sexy as moi in those painted-on back pockets? _

_He could weep. It **was** her. Eternities of guilt swamped his soul, dragged him deep. _

Sorry. 'M so sorry. My fault. Ev'rythin'.

_ B, don't ya dare go down that route. Ain't nothin' you coulda done to control dat monster. Ain't your job too, either. God gave man free will fer a damn reason. What you an' I do in life are our consequences to suffer or enjoy. Don't go taken on the consequences of others choices, Boo. Ya heart is too good fer that. _

_He doesn't deserve her forgiveness! Doesn't deserve anything good! He's a freak; wrong in the head; weak. Failed as a protector._

Shoulda been me...shoulda...

_Her hand is as warm and strong as his memory. The way her fingers card through his curls, the slight painful tug she always did when she wanted him to seriously pay attention to her next words flowing into the pleasurable scratch of her nails against his scalp as a soothing luxury._

_ I can tell ya honest, 'cause I got it straight from the Big Man 'imself: _

_ 'twas mine an' Maman's an' lil' Liora's time. We had accomplished all we were meant to do. _

_He is frozen and bursting in equal measures. They had never...Emily and Joshua had wanted to be surprised...._

Li...Liora?

_How can it be possible to convey such happy grief without even opening one's mouth? For that matter, how is it even possible to be talking to a ghost? If, as Dawnia says, he is in fact, not as dead as he should be, as he wants to be._

_ Aye, Boo. Our little girl. God's gift of light to us. _

PLEASE! Let me see! I need...I _**need to SEE!**_

_He can't beg enough. He needs to see what could have been with the burning survival instincts of a drowning man seeking oxygen. And it's a knife to his gut hearing her sigh, because that is her sound of sympathetic sorrow. A precursor to her next words that he doesn't want to hear._

_ I'm sorry. Ya can't lay eyes on us yet. If ya see us now, you'll never be content on Earth. And ya ain't ready to join us here yet either. Gotta prepare yerself; prepare others. _

_NO! Please, **no**! Don't send him back to that hell! Why can't he just be DONE?! Why does he have to be the one to always survive, always live, always stuck with-with..._

_It's an odd sensation, not breathing but hyperventilating all the same..._

_At least..._

_He **thinks** he hasn't been breathing? So hard to tell....what was he thinking again?_

_ It's time to go back, Boo. And I know, Good Lord I know, and I wish we didn't have to give ya back but she needs ya. They all need that fearsome strength of yers to get through what's comin'. Remember this, William Hargrove: Don't be afraid to show who ya are, there are more friends available to ya than ya think. And He never gives ya more than ya can handle. Don't be afraid to ask for help.  _

_She fades from his vicinity with one last lingering caress on his cheeks. He has no idea how he knows she leaves, still unable to open his eyes even a fraction, but he feels it, the returning black whirlpool which has slowly been consuming him since her **needless** death. It's oddly funny how he hadn't noticed it's absence in Dawnia's presence until it's return with her departure. Yet he cannot laugh beneath the pain consuming him anew, as if the past eight months had never occurred and he is instead freshly woken after the accident._

_Maybe he screams._

_Possibly he sobs._

_He is certainly adrift, caught in a merciless riptide once more. Will the cruelty of his life **never** end?!_

_A large warm hand rests against his cheek, calloused thumb slowly stroking away the hot tears. His chest aches beneath the force of his sob. He wants to stay! Let him stay, please! Let him see his baby girl! Just once! Let him see his mama! Dawnia! Mrs. Shephardson! He'll gladly go to Hell after. Take his punishment for all his stupid choices. Just..._

_Please..._

_One mercy...._

_Just one!_

**MY SON.**

_He stills. Tears dried and sorrow washed from his soul in the wake of that voice. Is that what a father is supposed to sound like, when their child is sad and crying? Just as heartbroken? Just as gut-punched? Like if there was anything in the world he could do to make things right, he would?_

_Is that what love sounds like?_

**MY BELOVED CHILD. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THERE BESIDE YOU, WAITING FOR YOU TO HEAR MY VOICE. IN ALL THE MOMENTS OF PAIN, OF LONELINESS, OF TRIUMPH, OF HAPPINESS, I HAVE NEVER LEFT YOUR SIDE. YOU ARE NOT FORSAKEN, MY CHILD.**

_Every instance where he had chosen wrong, where he lashed out in anger and fear, had stolen or lied or bribed or coveted, every sin he had ever committed ,flooded him in the wake of this Being's words. He cowered back, trying to hide the shame of himself._

_Don't look! Unclean! Unworthy! Don't Look! DON'TLOOK! **DON'TLOOK!**_

**MY SON, BE CLEANSED FOR ANOTHER HAS TAKEN YOUR PLACE. DID NOT YOUR MOTHER TELL YOU OF HIM? EMTIRELY BLAMELESS, HE DIED FOR THE SAKE OF ALL SOULS. YOU ARE FORGIVEN, PRECIOUS CHILD.**

_How is it possible to feel this...peace? A blissful sigh escapes and he sinks against the strong, scarred hands holding him. Muffled, sleepy curiosity compels his hands to search and trace, memorize every scar he can feel, from the through-and-through punctures in the middle of broad palms to the infinite patchwork of scars crisscrossing every inch of skin. He wonders which are his; where has his transgressions lashed their permanent marks upon pure flesh? Perhaps this jagged one? Like lightening branching across a storm addled sky. Or maybe this crater one, with its puckered edges and abyss center? Strong fingers gently pull his own questing digits away, pressing an object of delicate structure into his hands._

**WORRY NOT, MY CHILD, ON THE MARKS OF THE PAST. THEY ARE NO LONGER YOURS TO BEAR WITH SHAME BUT MINE TO CARRY WITH PRIDE. REST NOW, SWEET TREASURED ONE, AND WAKE PREPARED. A BATTLE FACES YOU WHEN YOU WAKE, BUT FEAR NOT; I AM ALWAYS BESIDE YOU. WHEN YOU CANNOT SEE MY FOOTSTEPS IN THE SANDS, REMEMBER THIS:**

**THAT IS WHEN I CARRY YOU, SON.**

_Those kind hands let him go, slowly, gently, reluctantly,_

_and_

_he_

_FALLS_

_FALLS_

_ **FALLS** _

&&&&

Billy Hargrove rises from the lukewarm bathwater like a killer whale jumping from the depths of the sea. A tidal wave of water splashing against the walls of the tub, of the bathroom, flooding the tile floor and churning around his waist, tugging at his water logged jeans. Harsh, heaving coughs spewed slightly gritty bathwater from his lungs before bile rose unencumbered and joined the liquid mix. His left hand white knuckled the rim of the salmon colored bathtub while his right subconsciously pressed a fragile, rough feeling disc to his chest. His lungs struggled and his body rebelled against his movements with a rushing, swallowing weakness dragging down every limb. It felt like being in that damn tunnel all over again just as his beloved element swept him away. Everything hurt and blackness is creeping into his vision. He doesn't want to go under again! Getting to his feet does nothing but add more bruises as his infinitesimal strength give out beneath his weight, sending him tumbling in a tangle of limbs and bone cracking thumps to the bathroom floor. His cheek rests in an inch of water, already chilling in the coldness of the room, and his breath sends little ripples cascading outwards on the water from his mouth and nose. And everywhere his body throbs as one giant sore.

It feels like hours before he has the strength to shakily lift himself to his hands and knees, forcing himself to disregard the charcoal edging his eyesight and the rising anxiety it brings, the room lurching as a ship upon the sea in a storm.

Shaking his head only makes his dizziness worse, and does nothing but hasten the creeping shadows.

_Please! Please don't let me drown again!_

Panic is stealing his breath, ripping and choking him from the inside out. Sinking down, Billy curls inward, hands scrambling for any sort of purchase to anchor himself to reality. His very soul feels as though its been shredded then glued together before shattering beyond any hope of salvation. How can he survive another day if he can't find the will to get past the pain?! He has to-he has to-! A fingertip brush against sandpaper calcium and Billy startles, grasping for the object so different from slick, cold tile and water. Forehead resting on the ground, drenched hair a curling curtain against the outside world, he gently cradled the object to his chest and focused on the feeling of it in his hand, rubbing against the skin of his chest.

_I'm-I'm fine....fine...I'm just...._

A flare of pain from his side finally breaks the dam.

Billy sobs, incapable of holding back the fear and horror and pain from the last however long its been since he was last conscious. And that uncertainty of the passage of time...

He's stuck in a damn loop of terror and it pisses him _**off**_ _!_

How can he protect himself if he....?

How can he fight if he can't....?

Is he truly so weak that all he can do is cry?

His sobs come closer, stuttering in his chest as his ability to draw oxygen wanes. Neil was right about him. Billy is weak. Neil was ri–

A hand, slim and burning hot, settles on his back while another cups his right shoulder to gently, bodily, drag him into an embrace. Beneath this welcoming heat, the chill which had been taking over his soul flees and with it, whatever willpower he had subconsciously been able to scrape together leaves as well. Billy slumps, absolutely boneless, melting in the comforting warmth surrounding him and finally beginning to breathe easier once more.

The darkness he had been trying so hard to stave off rushes forward, dragging him down beneath the waters once again. And yet this time...

This time.....

Billy isn't scared. He's protected by fire now and that eerie blackness can't stand it's light. _Idiotic blackness....telling me it's_ – Billy yawns, eyes slipping shut faster, senses abandoning him – _it's secrets..._

The hand on his shoulder moved, fingers beginning to card softly through his still wet curls. Is this what the fabled sustenance of the Greek gods, ambrosia, supposed to resemble? Pure, utter, heavenly bliss. It is a matter of seconds. Without his knowledge, the sand dollar he had been clutching drops from his hand with a quiet clink against the bathroom tile.

Billy sleeps.


End file.
